


a mistake

by deceptivelycomplex3925



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Slow Burn, Smut, ish?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deceptivelycomplex3925/pseuds/deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Regina have phone sex. </p><p>Feelings ensue, hearts get broken...idk. I'm really bad at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may have a very grotesque predilection toward this type of headcanon and it's increasingly problematic to my mental health. I wrote this two weeks ago before the Lily episode but the way it is now can be taken as canon, I guess? Maybe, idk. Perhaps if this wasn't just a trope (major, major weakness) of mine, phone sex between my otps, and it was at all plausible. We're just going to pretend the whole Zelena pregnancy thing doesn't exist for this one-shot too. Also, there's a line in here from one of my favorite fics by one of my favorite Mirandy authors. If you find it you're awesome and we should be friends. Also, also, for those of you who are almost obscenely (see what I did there?) amazing at writing smut, which black market did you sell your soul to in order to acquire such skill and where might I find it?
> 
> I'm not tagging OutlawQueen or CaptainSwan for relationships in this because the last time I did that I got chewed out. So yeah. Just know that they're both canon in this and however long this story does end up taking me to write, it IS a SwanQueen story, okay? Okay. 
> 
> It's probably going to hurt though. And you'll more than likely want to kill Regina a few times. That's usually how my fics like this go. 
> 
> Enjoy! (?)

It was a routine of theirs.

Something that had started after they'd come back from New York.

"She's uh…adjusting." Emma shimmies into a pair of boxers, iPhone cradled between ear and shoulder.

"I can't imagine what she must be going through," she hears Regina say, imagining her head shaking with the words, the light jostle of her deep brown, sometimes flecked with red and violet if the sun hit it just right, hair.

"Can't you?" Emma says, eyebrows lifting as she lies on her back in her bed, eyes tracing the design on the ceiling.

She gets a rumbling chuckle out of that and Emma bites her lip, her stomach clenching a bit with the sound.

The phone calls at night were a routine of theirs, something that had happened the night they'd gotten back a month ago and haven't stopped since.

Every. Single. Night.

Emma's unbidden, continuously growing arousal during these conversations though? _That_ wasn't part of their routine.

"I don't believe I've ever been through exactly what Lily has, Emma."

Emma shrugs and picks at the cotton of her tank top.

"Yeah, but you did punch me in the face and you also tried to kill my parents…and me too, actually," Emma gives a wry smile, a part of her mind kind of amazed at how far her and Regina had come that she can now joke about their acrimonious past and not feel anything but affection toward her.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you wouldn't have died...you just would have slept forever."

She rolls her eyes but laughs. "Oh right, of course, because that's _such_ an important distinction."

She hears rustling on the other end of the line and doesn't feel tentativeness when she asks, "What are you doing?"

"I'm moving to the study so I don't wake Henry," Regina whispers, Emma imagining her tiptoeing past his room.

Emma chuckles. "We do this every night and you haven't woken him up once. Pretty sure our kid could sleep through an apocalypse, Regina."

Emma feels the corner of her lips tug up at the silence on the other end, picturing Regina's eye roll.

It's a few more seconds before she hears the quiet opening and closing of a door, then the creak of leather.

"Couch?" Emma asks, brow crinkling.

"Chair."

"Damn," Emma whispers. She was usually good at this game.

"You're losing your touch, dear."

Emma rolls her eyes and shifts further down on the bed, rolling her ankles, popping them a few times.

"Did you just pop your fingers?"

"Ankles," Emma says, scratching at her nose.

"You're going to get arthritis if you keep doing that."

Emma rolls her eyes again. "You do realize that's a myth, right?"

She hears a noncommittal hum and feels a smile tug at her lips again.

"Is everyone asleep there?" Regina's voice is above a whisper now, but not by much. Emma wishes she'd stop sounding so... _that_. Like whiskey and cigars and raspy, raspy, raspy.

Emma silently wonders how exactly one person can sound like that all the time. She wonders if Regina had gone to school for it. If it's something she did deliberately or if it was just her.

Probably both. Regina was an asshole like that.

Emma licks her lips. "Yeah. Baby brother was weirdly quiet tonight so they passed out."

Regina does another one of those hums and Emma gives the phone a baleful glare, feeling the sound tingle and race along her skin.

"You've got to quit doing that," Emma says petulantly, face heating.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I doing it again? My 'stupidly raspy, voice thingy' as you so eloquently put that night?"

She can practically feel Regina's smirk. _Ass_.

"You're a jackass and I was drunk."

She gets nothing in response but a husky laugh and Emma's eyes flutter, a groan breaking past her lips before she can censor it.

Her eyes snap open when she realizes what she's done and her stomach fills with ice, heart jumping, palms instantly starting to sweat.

 _Shit, shit, shit_.

The line is eerily silent and Emma screws her eyes shut, bringing her fist up to press into her forehead, wanting to sink through the bed. Maybe Regina'd just tack it up to sleep deprivation or, like, mental insanity and move on.

 _Talk about something else, laugh, make a joke, something, Swan_ , something.

"Um," because she's about as articulate as a chimpanzee and she thinks very seriously about just hanging up, her embarrassment making her face feel on _fire_ , before she hears Regina's voice again.

"I didn't know you were so affected by my voice," she breathes, _breathes,_ and Emma's stomach does a somersault, feeling like a goddamn circus has taken up residence in her abdomen.

"It's um…yeah, I mean, it's very nice," Emma says lamely, trying to navigate her way through this without taking them down a road neither of them can come back from.

" _Nice_?" Regina asks, sounding equal parts amused and offended.

Emma feels her stomach drop because _shit_ , now she's got to try and veer them away from…whatever the fuck is happening right now while also trying not to piss Regina off.

So basically she's going to end up pissing Regina off. Fantastic. 

"Um, no – I mean, it's…yeah, it's nice…like a good nice, like sexy nice, but in a totally non-weird way, it's – "

Laughing, there's laughing again, this time more full-bodied. _Great_ , Emma thinks. Not pissed off, but laughing. _At_ Emma. At her expense.

 _Much_ better alternative.

Emma scowls at her stomach, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her bedspread like it was Regina's face.

"You're an ass," Emma growls, pride wounded, embarrassment giving way to absolute frustration.

Regina's chuckles fade into something like a sigh and Emma's circus starts another show.

"An ass with a nice voice. Like a good nice, like sexy nice, but in a – "

"Oh my god, _stop_ ," Emma says, hand coming up to cover her face, the other one gripping at her phone to keep it from sliding down her shoulder.

And Regina's laughing at her again and she huffs, grumbling.

"That's the last time I pay you a compliment."

"Oh, have I bruised your ego, dear?" Regina asks, laughter lingering in her voice.

" _Jesus_ , are you this smug around Robin?" Because she's an _idiot_ and she just  _had_ to bring up the purported soulmate.

Emma cringes, waiting for the awkwardness that's about to envelop them.

"He's never shown such…particular interest in my voice like you do."

Acrobats now, acrobats in her stomach, some of them deciding to move down a bit lower.

That's not at all how Regina was supposed to respond.

She was supposed to be clipped and evasive like she always is when Robin's brought up.

Emma drags her legs up, knees bending, pressing them together.

"Oh," is all she says, because honestly, she has no idea what's happening right now or how she's supposed to react.

Their conversations are never like this and it wasn't Emma who'd taken the turn down this road.

"You're not drunk tonight," Regina says apropos of nothing, voice like velvet, and Emma hears another creak of leather.

Emma's brow furrows. "No…I'm not." Why was she -

"So you're going to remember this. All of this." The register of her voice, if it was at all possible - because Regina's voice is already naturally, ridiculously low - drops down an octave or two.

 _Oh_. Oh wow. Was this going where she thought it was?

"R-remember what?" She presses her knees together harder, feeling like the entirety of her lower back is about to snap in two from the pressure building in her spine.

She hears creaking again, this time a little louder and Emma swallows, gulps really.

"I'm on the couch now," Regina whispers, raspy, raspy, raspy.

Emma's hips jerk, mouth parting a little.

"O-oh?"

"Yes, it's more comfortable here."

"More comfort – "

"I think this is the part where I'm supposed to ask you what you're wearing."

Oh fucking christ. Yeah, it was. This was happening – they were actually – Regina was actually –

"Oh, uhm...a tank top and boxers...you?"

She hears a throaty chuckle, the sound so _close_ , and Emma wishes with every single bone in her body that Regina was beside her.

"Such a cliché," Regina exhales, sounding absurdly content, lax even.

Emma mostly just tries to keep her hand from stealing beneath her boxers.

She fails when Regina replies with a husky, "Silk. Blue. Lace."

"Are you describing your pajamas or what you have on underneath?" She bites her lip, fingernails scratching and raking gently at the inside of her thigh.

"I'm not wearing anything underneath," and Emma feels it as if Regina'd said it directly against her clit.

" _Fuck_ , Regina...what - what are we doing?"

"I think it's fairly obvious what we're doing, Emma," and her name on Regina's lips like this, sounding like _that_ , three octaves lower in register and absolutely _dripping_ sex, makes Emma's eyes flutter closed, thighs flexing, trapping and stilling her hand which had begun moving in time with her traitorous hips.

"We're both completely aware of this - we know exactly what we're doing right now." Because Emma's brain is starting to haze over and she needs the added clarification right now.

"Yes," Regina says and then on the same breath asks, "are you in your bed?"

"Yeah," Emma croaks. Really, really hazy.

Her middle finger glides through her folds and she isn't at all surprised at the ease with which it does so. A month of Regina's voice every night had apparently built up some sort of debt within her and now that Regina was talking to her like that…well, Emma was _soaking_. Her hips jerk up again at the attention, seeking more, firmer contact and Emma sucks in a sharp breath, rocking into her palm.

"Emma," Regina asks. "What are you doing?"

She laughs then. "Take a wild guess, Regina."

"Tell me exactly what you're doing," she says, her voice taking on a more demanding note. And Emma should have known that even in bed Regina would be bossy.

But instead of the usual urge to do the exact _opposite_ of what Regina had said, this time she complies. Because this time her need to have constant control over every situation is a serious fucking turn on and really, Regina could recite the friggin' bible to her at this point and she'd get off.

"I'm - oh, I'm rocking against my hand," Emma manages, back arching up when she swirls her index and middle finger around her clit.

"Take your fingers away," Regina says, voice sounding slightly unsteady but still very much in control. Emma thinks the hell she fucking is. She parts herself and hisses when the cold air of the loft meets her sex.

" _Emma_ ," Regina says lowly, voice gravelly and jesus fucking christ, she's bringing out the evil queen voice, "remove your hand, _now_."

"Or what?" Emma challenges, feeling like she could walk on water, or come any fucking second because seriously, Regina brought out the _evil queen_ voice and she's having _phone sex_ with _Regina_ and now she's got two fingers knuckle deep and her thumb is hovering dangerously close to her throbbing clit and honestly, she's about three seconds from -

Her fingers still inside of her then, sliding out and slipping out of her boxers, dragging up the rippling muscles of her abdomen, her arousal leaving a sticky trail in their wake, and Emma's brow furrows because, "Regina," she gasps when her fingers make a lazy circle around an erect nipple, "what - "

"You deliberately disobeyed me," Regina tuts and Emma's brain kind of gets blown a little bit then because she can actually  _feel_ Regina's magic coursing through her veins, can feel it twine and find home within them, and Emma cries out when her fingers pinch her left nipple hard enough that it throbs even as her thumb runs over it in apology.

"You refused to listen."

Her hand stills on her breastbone then and she whines when she tries to move it herself and it doesn't budge.

"Ah, ah, dear. It seems someone needs a lesson in patience."

"Regina," Emma growls, because _fuck_ , she had been so close.

"Yes, Emma?" Regina purrs.

"Put my fingers back inside of me right fucking now."

She hears a chuckle, all wickedly delighted and smug, and Emma wants to wind her fingers in dark, silky hair and _yank_. She wants to turn that chuckle into a gasp of pain and surprise, wants it to turn needy, wants Regina to _beg_ her.

"Mm," Regina hums, sounding far too amused, and Emma grits her teeth, snaking her other hand down just a little bit –

That one stills on her left hip too and Emma groans, head thumping back against her pillow, phone sliding down her shoulder and catching at the crook of it. She huffs and Regina's voice is only slightly softer from the added distance. She still can't move her hand. _Hands_.

"Are you always this impatient?" Emma detects the slight exasperation in Regina's tone and doesn't understand how _she_ can be the irritated one right now.

"Only when I've been wanting to do something like this for fucking _years_ and the person involved uses magic to keep me from getting off when I was like _two fucking seconds_ away from it."

There's a pause and Emma realizes what she's just - 

"You've been wanting to do something like this with me for years?"

Well, shit.

"Uhh…"

Emma's nails of her right hand rake down her abdomen then, feeling Regina's magic like fire in her veins. So _hot_. So _good_. Her eyes flutter and she bites her lip, whimpering when her fingers bypass her pulsating clit and instead just barely tease at her opening.

"You feel exquisite," Regina exhales, leaving Emma's previous comment alone for the time being. And the breathiness of the words, the words themselves, make Emma whimper, her fingers dipping and swirling and slow, slow, slow. And it's _Regina_. Regina's doing this to her. _With_ her.

"God, Regina," Emma's hips jerk up when her fingers graze over her fucking _aching_ clit and _finally_ , she thinks, but then Regina's teasing again and jesus christ, _no_. No, she isn't patient at all because she's been waiting _years_ for Regina's touch and she _won't give it to her_.

Even if it is through magic, even if it's her own fingers, it's essentially Regina and –

"Regina, please…just – "

"Just what?" Regina asks, voice strained and low. "Say it, Emma. Tell me what you want." And oh fucking hell. Emma's gone. Completely and wholly. She'd get down on her hands and knees and lick the dirt off Regina's boots for release. For her saying her name like _that_.

"Please, Regina – please, just _fuck me_. God, I can't – _please_ \- "

She hears Regina inhale sharply, hearing her name somewhere in the sound, and then finally, finally, finally, Regina's inside of her. Pumping in and out, faster and faster, almost reckless, and Emma feels Regina's magic leave her left hand and arm and she slides it out to grip at the sheets, knuckles turning white as her hips roll in time with the fingers still thrusting within her. The phone is dangerously close to slipping past her shoulder and onto the bed but Emma's too far gone to even notice.

She's so close again, her back bowing up so sharply there's a large gap between her and the bed, the back of her head pressed harshly into her quilt, eyes screwed shut, stomach, thighs, legs rippling, toes curling and she has just enough thought to slap her left hand over her mouth before she comes with a loud cry, her mouth forming around the syllables of Regina's name as her own thumb presses down and circles at her engorged clit, Regina's voice cracking on her name as she croaks, "Come for me, Emma."

And then every single muscle in her body is limp, her chest heaving, breath loud and ragged against her palm still covering her mouth and she blinks back tears she doesn't remember forming.

She hears shallow breathing on the other end of the line when the blood stops rushing in her ears and before she can bask in the warm glow of Regina's magic, she feels it leave her body. Feels it like an IV filling her with nutrients and warmth, warmth, warmth being ripped from her veins. Her whole body jolts with the feeling and she wonders if Regina had meant to do it so abruptly. The phone does slip down her shoulder this time and she reaches up with a trembling hand to place back up to her ear.

Her body tenses again, but this time out of anxiety. The fingers of her right hand are still buried inside of her and now that it's no longer Regina who's commanding control of them, she no longer wants them there. She slips them out and swallows as she wipes them on the rapidly cooling skin of her thigh, feeling ice crawl up her body from the tips of her toes to the nape of her neck.

With the sudden loss of Regina's magic, that heat, that peculiar feeling of completeness, comes in its place unease, _guilt_.

Regina had just fucked her with her own hand, she'd _initiated_ it, and yet Emma was the one who felt guilty.

How the hell did that work?

Emma swallows back the lump forming in her throat and bites the inside of her cheek, shivering at a wave of goosebumps.

"Regina?" She whispers tentatively.

And there's another sharp inhale, this one sounding a bit more unstable, and Emma's heart pounds away in her chest, a feeling of lucid cognizance of what they had just done jolting through her like a hard smack to the face.

"Are you – "

"This never happened," Regina says, voice like steel and the ice she feels hardening in her veins.

Emma's breath catches, the urge to curl in on herself and wrap her arms around her knees almost too strong to resist. But it's not like she wasn't expecting this. She should have known that Regina would react this way. She has a soulmate. A soulmate who is most definitely _not_ Emma. Emma's just a friend. Maybe less than that now.

"I can't believe – " there's a wobbly exhale on the other end and Emma pictures her covering her eyes with her hand, fingers massaging at her brow bones. "This was a mistake," Regina says, and Emma feels it like a blow to the chest.

A mistake _. Emma was a mistake to her._

Emma can't speak. She's afraid she'll say something she'll regret. Like _I think I'm in love with you_ or _I think that whole soulmate, predestined bullshit is really fucking stupid and I think I could be your happy ending…let me be your happy ending._

"Emma, are you still there?"

_Do you really think this was a mistake?_

"Yeah, I'm still here," Emma croaks. She clears her throat and rolls onto her side, staring blankly at the dresser, the laundry basket full of clothes she's yet to fold.

"I'm with Robin," Regina says. Emma wonders if she knows how dejected she'd just sounded. Emma wonders if it makes it hurt worse or less that she's almost positive Regina's completely aware.

"I know," Emma whispers, willing the hot tears blurring her vision away.

"And this…anything like this, it can't ever happen again."

"I know," she blinks and one tear trails down and off her cheek, onto the quilt as the other rolls off her nose and follows its companion to the cotton fabric beneath her.

"Emma…" Regina whispers it, and Emma hears the apology within the two syllables, hears the regret. And Emma's so angry at herself for thinking that Regina would ever choose her over her soulmate. Over someone she was destined to be with. 

Emma's angry at herself for knowing that should Regina ever choose her in the future, she'd leave Killian for her. She'd leave Killian like she wishes Regina would leave Robin.

But Regina isn't going to do that and Emma's angry, so, so _angry_ that she's now just cheated on the man who claims she's his happy ending with someone who claims that hers is with a man currently taking up residence in one of the rooms at Granny's.

"It's fine," Emma grits out through clenched teeth, swiping irritably at the tears still staining and warming her skin.

"Emma," Regina says again, because she _knows_ her. Emma flexes her jaw.

"It's fine, Regina, I get it. It was a mistake. You're in love with Robin Hood and I have Killian. We both have someone. We can just chalk this up to morbid curiosity or something and move on."

"You weren't a science experiment, Emma, I – " she cuts herself off then, and Emma screws her eyes shut.

"Yeah," Emma says, voice raw. "I wouldn't finish that either. It would just – yeah. Just don't."

"I," Regina clears her throat, "should go then, it's getting late."

"Yeah," Emma says, voice cracking. She winces at the sound.

"Goodnight, Emma," Regina whispers. Emma bites her tongue so hard she tastes metallic.

"Night." She can't bring herself to say Regina's name and she pulls the phone away from her ear, pressing the end button before tossing it at the foot of the bed, her hands coming up to fist at her hair and scrub at her face.

She smells the muskiness of her arousal still fresh on her fingers and her stomach lurches, feeling like she's about to puke. She sits up and pads down the stairs of the loft quietly, the sudden, desperate need to shower quickening her steps.

 _This was a mistake_ , Emma's mind replays again.

She scrubs at her body, scrubs and scrubs between her legs until it's almost painful to the touch, and she doesn't realize how hard she's crying until her knees buckle beneath her and her body leans heavily into the marble of the shower, the spray of the water pounding into her back as she slides down the cool tile.

She allows her arms to wrap around her knees this time, allows her chin to rest on her forearms, allows the tears to flow freely, unalloyed.

She'd leave him for her.

She'd do anything for her.

She's a mistake to her.

She tightens her arms around the slick skin of her shins, presses her thighs closer to her chest, tilts her head up and gasps as the water flowing from the showerhead steals her breath from her lungs. She keeps her head tilted up anyway, letting the water mix and wash away the salt of her tears, until there's no distinction between them. Until she's spitting out water and still gasping and her face is red and her fingertips are wrinkly and she doesn't move until the water turns too cold to bear.

And then she gets out, wraps a towel around her wet body, water dripping and forming a puddle under her feet, a rivulet of water flowing down her back from her hair, as she wipes away the steam on the mirror above the sink.

She won't cry over this ever again.

She dries her hair and brushes it before padding back up to the loft and donning one of her baggy sweatshirts and grey sweatpants and moving to the other side of her bed. She slips under the covers and tucks her hands under her cheek, rolling onto her side, finding the moon, full and bright, through the undrawn curtains of her window.

She wonders if Regina had touched herself earlier. She wonders if she had come. She wonders if she'd bitten her lip to keep quiet. She wonders if she ever used magic on Robin during sex.

She wonders when she became such a raging masochist.

She wonders if Killian will ever find out. If perhaps one day she'll tell him.

She wonders how idiocy, something she's accused of by Regina on a daily basis, can be such a prominent trait within her bloodline.

She wonders if she's ever going to be able to look at Regina the same way again.

She won't.

She wonders what time it is.

Finds she doesn't care.

She wonders, wonders, wonders.

And the last thought she finds flittering across her mind is _does she love me_ before sleep overtakes her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you've ever felt personally victimized by Regina Mills. 
> 
> *raises both hands and both feet...levitates off the ground*
> 
> So, yeah, I updated...I think y'all are going to wish I hadn't though. 
> 
> But HEY, at least I can tell you that the next chapter will be better. Maybe. Probably not. I mean y'all should know by now that I like to take baths in my own masochism so here be my warning: even I thought Regina in this was a bit harsh. But since when has our girl EVER known how to handle vulnerability? 
> 
> As a side note, I actually hate this chapter but it has been sitting in my word document for almost three months now, actively taunting me every time I clicked past it to write in another story, so this is me. Getting it the fuck out of my tabs.

_if you're gonna let me down_

_let me down gently_

_don't pretend that you don't want me_

_\- adele, water under the bridge_

 

 

So they were talking.

It was nine o’clock in the morning and they were talking.

It was nine o’clock in the morning, they were talking, and Emma was really, _really_ regretting the decision to ‘act like mature adults about this’ and drive over to the mansion to have breakfast with Regina. She’d cried her throat raw not six hours ago. She wasn’t really in the mood to act like a mature adult around a woman who cursed an entire realm because a ten year old blabbed a secret about her.

She wished it was the weekend so she could use the whole ‘Henry’s around, we can’t talk about the phone sex that can never happen again right now’ excuse.

But it wasn’t the weekend, Henry was at school, and she and Regina actually _did_ need to have this conversation.

She’s just made some snide comment about Robin Hood and happily ever afters (because honestly, if she hears his name one more time she’s going to _scream_ ). It’s muffled by her cup. Regina hears it anyway.

“He’s not my happy ending, he’s just a part of it.” She says it on a sigh, like it’s getting a bit annoying to repeat. Emma notices the slight emphasis on ‘part’.

Emma lets out a snort, sitting the still steaming cup of (truthfully amazing) coffee down on the island.

“You know I actually might have believed that a day ago.”

She makes sure to find Regina’s eyes when she speaks next. “If you’re so happy, Regina, if Robin’s a _part_ of your happy ending then why did you _fuck_ _me_ over a phone last night?” She watches Regina’s jaw muscles flex, watches as her eyes blink rapidly before flickering to Emma’s immediate left. Somewhere near the sink. Her nostrils flare.

 _Hey, you wanted to talk about this_ , Emma thinks.

“Does that mean I’m part of your happy ending too? What about my parents? Killian?”

Regina’s eyes snap to hers once more, looking wholly affronted. Emma might’ve laughed out loud at the expression had it been any other day.

Had her heart not been crushed to fine dust last night by this woman standing in front of her now crossing her arms and looking at Emma like she’s the world’s greatest idiot.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Emma asks, eyebrows lifting. Because she sure as hell doesn’t think she is. She thinks she’s being perfectly plausible, actually.

Regina’s glare intensifies, added now with the ‘seriously?’ head tilt. “Yes,” she says. “Why on earth would the _pirate_ and your _parents_ be a part of my happiness?” Regina’s nose scrunches (adorably actually, and _god damn it_ , Emma, you’re _angry_ with her, _shut up_ ) with her words, disdain dripping from every syllable.

Emma’s about to follow through with an eye roll of her own, a retort on her lips, when she fully cognizes what Regina’s just said. She blinks.

“So does that mean you don’t find it ridiculous that _I_ could be a part of it?”

And there’s a split second where Regina’s face shifts into that ‘deer in headlights’ look Emma’s not sure she’s ever really seen on her before. But then it’s gone, just as quickly as it had come, and her features smooth into one of practiced indifference.

Emma narrows her eyes. She knows that look. She _hates_ that look.

“You are my son’s mother,” Regina says, monotone, slowly as if Emma’s a small child who doesn’t quite understand semantics just yet. And _damn_ if Emma’s not a little peeved at how quickly Regina had pulled out the Henry card. Emma’s almost certain she’d have blanked completely.

“Your point?” Because _seriously_ , Regina’s about to make this sound _really_ convincing and it’s pissing Emma the fuck off. She doesn’t allow herself to fully think about _why_ that is.

Regina fixes her with one of those ‘you’re annoying and I’m only seconds away from charring your hair with a fireball’ glares. Emma feels vaguely triumphant.

“My _point_ is that our son and _his_ happiness is a very large part of _my_ happiness and you being his other mother – someone who makes him happy – makes you, by extension, part of it as well. So no, to answer your question, I do not find it ridiculous because it’s an unalterable fact.”

It’s a logical explanation. And it is also, as she’d anticipated, very convincing. But Emma’s lie detector is going off in her mind and though she’s still mad at it for being so perpetually faulty during the time the whole town was under the curse, she _does_ know when Regina is lying to her. At the very least she knows a dodge when she sees one and if there’s one throne Regina’s got claim over indefinitely, it’s that of elusion.

“Right.”

She licks her lips, the past month, all those phone calls, Regina’s soft voice and melodic laughter (she’d never heard it so _light_ before), blipping through her mind like a slide show.

“So I’m only a part of your happiness because we share a son and you fucking me through a phone last night never happened and can’t ever happen again because you’re with Robin, who _is_ a part of your happiness not by any shared sons or actual, emotional connection but because some pixie dust given to you by some rogue, amateur fairy told you he’s your soulmate and I guess it doesn’t really matter if you’re truly in love with him or not, he’s your _soulmate_ so you have to be with him.” Emma takes in a deep pull of air, feeling her skin buzz with a sudden anger that’s threatening to make her hands tremble. “Did I get all of that right?”

She meets Regina’s gaze. Her eyes are wide again, mouth parted like she’s trying to form words. Like she can’t decide which ones she wants, can’t decipher which emotions to feel first. Or perhaps which to show.

But then, just like earlier, she steels herself, face going neutral, into that Madam Mayor façade Emma’d thought was long done away with by now.

Emma wants to shake her. She wants to unravel that goddamn defense mechanism of hers. That _look_ she gets when she’s so obviously hiding her emotions. When she’s hiding the _truth_. Emma wants to grasp ahold of every single brick that makes up that mile high wall Regina’s got around herself. She wants to take them down gently, one by one, and sit them at her side. She wants to dust them off and let Regina see them as well, see Emma holding them. She wants Regina to _let_ her.

She wants _Regina_. Not the mayor, not the evil queen, not this closed off, unyielding version of her either. She doesn’t want her guises, her titles. She wants the woman underneath the many masks. She wants the Regina from all those phone calls. She wants the Regina from last night.

“Get out.” Regina’s voice, hard and all ice, rips her from her thoughts.

“What?”

“ _Get_. _Out_.”

She’s seething now, jaw clenching, eyes flashing. Her lip is doing that curling thing it’s so prone to when she’s this angry and Emma’s gaze is always so captured by that scar above the top one when it does.

“You asked me to come over here, Regina. To _talk_.” Emma points out, hands tightening into fists at her sides, standing up from the barstool. She’s been accused of running away from her problems her entire life but she’s pretty sure that between the two of them, it’s Regina who gets the cake for that particular character trait. _Mature adult my entire ass._

“Yes, and now I’m telling you to leave.”

Regina turns to leave the kitchen. Emma doesn’t budge. “Why, because I’ve hit the nail on the head and you’re going to throw a tantrum right here in front of me if I don’t?”

Regina whirls around, thundering toward her in a second, lip curling again and _god_ is that going to become a kink of hers?

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Think you’ve figured me out? Think because you’ve made me laugh a few times over the phone, that I’ve divulged things to you no one other than Henry knows, that you and I shared an intimate few moments last night, you now have some special insight into my feelings?” Regina snorts, the sound crass and discordant on such beautiful lips. She presses her index finger, nail bare and perfectly filed, into Emma’s breastbone. Her dark eyes follow the action and stay there even as she speaks. “You know nothing of my feelings, Emma.” She tips her gaze up, russet meeting blue-grey. “ _Nothing_.”

And Emma’s hurt, yes. Regina’s words are actually burning against her skin, wriggling and honing in on that place in her heart that was only just cut into last night. She feels them tearing at the stitching she’d haphazardly woven through the muscle and tissue there, opening the seams with little effort. It’s astounding to Emma, Regina’s talent. How she can make such meaningful things, such meaningful _moments_ , sound as if they actually meant nothing at all.

It takes a large amount of restraint not to let it show on her face. And she thinks she’s succeeded. But she can do nothing about what flashes in her eyes.

Whatever it was – hurt, anger, heartbreak, all three – Regina sees it. Emma knows she does because Regina’s lip twitches. As close to a smirk as she’s ever seen it.

It sets Emma _ablaze_.

A voice inside of her hisses _I know more of them than that fickle forest beard does_ while another one whispers _she’s pushing too hard_.

The closest one to her eardrum though, that one chuckles. _Bullshit._

“A few intimate moments, huh?” Emma wraps a hand around Regina’s still at her breastbone. Regina jerks, gasps as if she’d completely forgotten she still had her finger there. Emma takes a step forward, their noses almost brushing. Regina’s eyes snap up to meet hers, flickering back and forth, a question in them, a most definite warning.

Emma ignores it because Regina’s yet to even attempt to remove her hand from underneath her grasp, and her gaze tips down to Regina’s lips, parted and bare, _ridiculously_ kissable. Emma’s heart hammers against her ribcage.

“ _Shared_ intimate moments,” Emma breathes. It breaks across Regina’s mouth and she watches as plum lips part a little bit further on a soft inhale.

“Does that mean you came too?” A stuttered exhale. Coffee and maple syrup. Emma’s eyes flutter.

“Did you touch yourself?” Regina’s fingers twitch beneath her own.

“Were you thinking about it?” She smooths her thumb over a knuckle, flicks her eyes up. “Were you _wet_?”

Regina’s lashes flutter shut at that, breath snagging in her throat, this little sound bubbling up, something pained, _needy_. Almost like a whimper.

Emma’s stomach furls violently at the sound, blood whooshing and pounding in her ears.

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina whispers and Emma’s heart jumps in her chest, eyes shooting up, searching rich brown irises. It sounds like it did last night. Raw and just bordering on broken.

She’s completely open in this moment, walls in crumbling heaps around her. Something blooms inside of Emma’s chest, warm and bright.

And she thinks they’re about to kiss. Feels it like a tangible thing, mouth tingling with the anticipation of it. Regina’s eyes dip down, trace the lines of her lips. Emma thinks she even sees Regina’s head crane forward ever so slightly.

And then those perfect, perfect lips are brushing against her own. Her eyes slide shut and _god_ she feels it race through her, feels it jolt, feels that tingling shoot through every pore and centimeter of her skin. She parts her mouth further, presses more firmly, needs to _feel_ _more_.

But then Regina sucks in a sharp breath and Emma’s eyes fly open.

Regina’s entire visage changes with the action. Hardens again. Walls slotting firmly back into place and she pushes at Emma’s breastbone hard enough that Emma stumbles backward, her grip on Regina’s hand loosening before coming apart completely.

Regina covers her mouth with her hand just briefly, an ephemeral fissure in those walls, and if Emma sees it tremble, well, that’s probably just the feverish workings of her addled brain.

Then she shakes her hair out her face – an overly regal movement – takes a deep inhale, and finds Emma’s eyes, piercing and walls, walls, walls.

“This is how this is going to work, Miss Swan.” Emma winces at the moniker. “You are going to _never_ pull something like that again and we are both going to pretend this discussion and the previous night never happened.” She puts a hand on her hip, encased in a deep cerulean, form-fitting dress, and leans her upper body forward a bit, eyes unrelenting. “As a matter of fact, how about we just forget the phone calls altogether.”

 _Oh_.

“We work better as co-parents with a mild tolerance for one another anyway, don’t you think?”

“Do you love him?” She feels herself blurt out, feeling her body tilt, mind a cacophony of the many, many voices scratching and clawing at one another to be spoken first.

Regina veers back. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Robin. Do you _love_ him?”

Emma feels déjà vu, sharp and blinding, ripple through her body.

_Henry. Do you love him?_

Unlike four years ago though, Regina continues to stare at her, incredulity very much prominent in her features. But there’s something else dancing within those ochre irises of hers and Emma thinks it's recognition.

As if Regina remembers that day just as vividly as she does.

So it’s only fitting when she responds with, “of course I love him. He’s my _soulmate_.”

It’s funny though. When she’d said it four years ago, Emma’s very first reaction had been one of disbelief.

When she’d said it four years ago, the tone had been neutral, devoid of sentiment. Emma’s body had almost sung with _liar_ and at the time she’d wanted to believe it. She’d wanted to believe it so fervently (because a deeply selfish part of her, a just freshly uncovered part of her at finding her son at her doorstep had thought that if Regina truly didn’t love Henry then that’d surely gain her at least _some_ solid ground in a courtroom) that her lie detector had binged loudly between her ears at the response.

But that night, in her room at Granny’s, she’d remembered the crumpled up tissue that Regina had surreptitiously slipped into the pocket of her grey blazer. She’d noticed the red around her eyes, the glisten in them. And she hadn’t been sure at the time _why_ she was so frigid, such a _raging_ _bitch_. So fiercely determined to keep her emotions dulled and hidden away from everyone – to the point that even her own son believed she didn’t love him.

She hadn’t understood one bit and she’d gotten so caught up in what Regina was showing her that it took her while to see what she _wasn’t_. What she’d let slip through the cracks that day outside her mansion.

A woman who didn’t love her son wouldn’t have looked so wrought with relief running (in heels no less) to wrap her arms around him when Emma’d brought him back to Storybrooke that very first night.

A woman who didn’t love her son wouldn’t have let such _worry_ paint her words that morning she woke up in a jail cell. _Graham, Henry’s run away again and we have to –_

A woman who didn’t love her son wouldn’t have allowed a complete stranger – her son’s _birth_ _mother_ – to see that tissue or the too prominent shine in her eyes from shed tears.

Regina hadn’t been lying. She loved Henry.

When she says the words now though, it’s vehement, almost breathless. She’s showing what she wants Emma to see, eyes fierce and challenging. As if daring Emma to question her. Almost looking desperate for it. Perhaps, Emma muses, a little _too_ desperate.

And Emma’s head cocks to the side. Because this time what Regina is showing her is actually the truth. Her lie detector is silent, unmoving. She _does_ love Robin.

But it had been tacitly clear which type of love Emma was referring to and she’s got this niggling feeling that Regina’s feelings for Robin Hood aren’t as expansive as the word ‘soulmate’ implies.

So she rephrases her question.

“Are you _in_ love with him?”

Regina freezes.

Emma watches her face very, _very_ closely.

There’s shock first and foremost, as if she hadn’t been prepared for the question. Then an almost overwhelming flash of fear. Regina’s mouth parts with it. There’s a brief flicker of what Emma’s almost certain is pain and she’s so confused by it that she misses the very last emotion before Regina’s face goes blank.

Then angry. It twists her features, makes them look more severe, makes her look like the evil queen Emma’s never seen her as.

“I know what you want me to say, Emma.” She breathes it, eyes alighting, face twisting still, lip curling again and this time it makes Emma feel nauseous. “I know what you want from me.” Emma’s heart thuds about in her chest and she swallows, a powerful sense of dread washing over her.

And then Regina leans in, a dark glint in her eyes, a brittle smile on her lips. “And whether I’m in love with Robin Hood or not is completely irrelevant because no matter how much you wish it, and I _know_ you wish it, I’m not and never will be in love with _you_.”

And lie or not it _destroys_ Emma.

It knocks the breath from her lungs, makes tears prick at her eyelids, her vision blur.

She hates her lie detector in this moment, hates that she’s always thought she was so _attuned_ to Regina, that she could tell when she was lying or not.

Because right now? Right now she has _no_ _idea_. Right now she’s in too much pain to even _try_ to wade through all the emotions she feels running rampant within her, to see if her lie detector is going off or not.

Right now she wants to get as far away from this woman as she possibly can. But she wants something else just as much.

So she sucks in a trembling breath, wills her tears from falling.

“I was wrong before.”

Regina blinks, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What?”

Emma laughs then, feels it grate roughly against the back of her throat. Regina’s eyes widen, looking at her like she’s insane. Emma wonders how she could have _ever_ thought of Regina as a runner like her. Because she’s not. _God_ , she’s not. She’s the complete _opposite_.

“You don’t run from your problems. You don’t run away when someone gets too close to you.” She finds Regina’s eyes, throat closing up, and tears blur her vision again. “You push. You beat everyone back with a stick. You find a person’s weakness and then you twist a knife in them with it when you're afraid they're about to find yours. You dismantle another person’s heart for the sake of your own and that’s… _awful_ , Regina, it’s just – ”

Emma’s voice cracks though, wobbles, and those stupid tears fall, scorching hot trails down her cheeks.

She draws in a sharp breath and meets Regina’s nonplussed gaze.

“I just hope that when the time comes you decide to push Robin away, you do it with a little more compassion than you just showed me.”

And then she walks out of the kitchen and out the door, not allowing herself to break down until she’s safely in her bug atop the hill that overlooks the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll get the next chapter up before the season premiere starts. 
> 
> *loud laughter in the background*
> 
> P.S. please don't hate me because I love all of you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I actually made good on a deadline! 
> 
> I originally was going to make this chapter longer but my OCD wouldn't allow it. It's a little longer than the others as it is. 
> 
> Also, I traded studying for three exams to finish this so I hope you all like it. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up soon? I already have most of the scenes written out for it anyway, so chances are it'll be up quicker than this one was. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She hadn't cried.

She'd been expecting, anticipating it, holding it off until she was far enough away from the town, from curious eyes and nosy dispositions.

It's just that when she had put the bug in park, she'd felt nothing. No tears burning at her eyes, no tightness in her throat, no upheaval in her gut.

She was numb. From the tips of her toes to the top of her head and every space in between.

She'd sat up there for a while. On the top of that hill, staring out her window shield and seeing nothing.

She's not sure for how long.

After a while though, that numbness had started to morph into heaviness. It'd settled at the base of her stomach. Had made her nauseous.

So she'd grabbed the bag full of a change of clothes and tennis shoes she kept in her trunk at all times, threw it in the passenger seat, and drove until she reached the outskirts of town. The forest.

It was just around noon when she finished lacing up her shoes.

The air was thicker out here, the omnipresent dampness that seemed to cling to every molecule in this town giving it a heady scent.

Emma closes her eyes and inhales deeply, feeling the burn from the cold air like a hearty welcome in her lungs.

She's just a little over a mile into her run, amidst a sprint, when she spots what looks like a human-shaped blob a few yards away.

She groans and slows to a stop when the blob calls out her name.

"Emma," David says again when he's within a few yards of her, stopping and bending over, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth on a white puff as he finds her eyes. "Your brother and your mother's cooking don't exactly bode well for my physical endurance these days it seems."

Despite herself, Emma smiles and lets out a small laugh of her own. "Did you run the entire way here?" She looks past him toward the bend up ahead, marveling at his alleged lack of stamina. She thinks even _she'd_ have passed out by now if she'd ran that far.

He gives another laugh, righting himself as he follows Emma's gaze. He squints and points to somewhere beyond the trees where the road curves harshly. "I drove most of the way here. I got a call about a runaway dog. A beagle apparently." He smiles warmly at her, eyes crinkled and soft around the edges. Her heart squeezes, something like _family_ and _whole_ wrapping around it gently, an embrace. "I found my daughter instead." He looks over her shoulder before finding her eyes again. "Do you run out here often?"

"Uh…"

Because she doesn't.

When she wants to run she usually does it around town and ends up at Regina's for a meal that always seems to be readily made and waiting for her.

Well, not _for_ her, obviously. It's probably just when Regina eats lunch.

There's always enough food for the both of them but that's probably just coincidence.

Probably.

Anyway, she doesn't run out here. There's no plate of grilled cheese (Regina had probably made that for Henry that day… _probably_ ) waiting for her at the end of this road and there's no warm, crinkly eyed smiles that speak of something deeper than a familial bond either. Not that she _cares_. Not that she _misses_ that smile.

She just _really_ likes grilled cheese. And Regina's grilled cheese is _so_ much better than Granny's. It's annoying, really. Regina's ability to cook. Among other things. Like being a raging asshole 99.9% of the time. Oh, and having sex with her through a phone and afterward telling her it can never happen again. Then telling her she'd never love her. But you know, she wasn't thinking about that.

Except she _was_ and she bends forward with her frustration, head tipping forward, toward her breastbone.

David mistakes it for her catching her breath and she hears a sympathetic chuckle, followed by a gentle clap on her shoulder.

"Wanna call it an afternoon and grab lunch at Granny's?"

She looks up at him, his eyes all hopeful and fond at once, and Emma narrows her own.

"Why did you come out here again?"

His smiles falters a bit and he blinks. "I got a call about…a missing dog."

Emma rights herself, eyes narrowing even further. "What's the dog's name?"

"Oh, it's uh…" His hand shoots to rub at the back of his neck and Emma crosses her arms.

"Who told you I was out here?" She grits her teeth, back stiffening.

David sighs and drops his hand, deflating. "Hook said that he saw you le – "

Emma snorts, cutting him off. She rolls her eyes. "Of course he did."

She can't do _anything_ in this town without him knowing about it.

The rest of David's words catch up to her and she feels a surge of unease ripple through her and settle low in her gut, next to that heaviness, mingling with it. "Saw me what?"

"Leaving Regina's," David says, voice not revealing anything other than genuine concern. "He said you seemed upset."

Emma laughs. It's loud and bitter and festering. And she doesn't mean for it to happen but _upset_ is just a _tad_ insufficient for what she was feeling when she left Regina's earlier.

David eyes her curiously, if not a little worried. There's something else in his eyes as well that she doesn't quite have a name for but it makes that unease still rolling around inside of her multiply a bit. She tries to ignore it with a question.

"Why didn't he come after me then?" Because if there's one thing Killian's good at it's chasing after her. Even when she doesn't want him to.

"He told me he didn't think you'd want that. That if it was about Regina then it would probably be best for him to stay out of it."

Emma's mouth parts at that, eyebrows rising.

David chuckles. "I was surprised as well."

She looks over his shoulder again and tries to keep her smile genial. 

"Look, David…I really appreciate you coming out here for me and everything but I – "

"Came out here to be alone?" He's smiling, eyes keen, an added gentility in them that makes her heart feel too big for her chest.

She lets out a chuckle, eyes watering from the cold. Definitely from the cold. She's not emotional or anything. She's _fine_.

"Of course if there _was_ something you'd like to talk about, get off your chest maybe, I hope you know that I'm always here for you, always on your side, Emma. Okay?"

She's _not_ crying.

She sniffles, a watery titter breaking past chapped lips.

"Okay."

He presses a warm palm into her cheek, one she leans into, and he rubs a thumb under her left eye, catching a tear she most certainly _hasn't_ shed, before turning and making his way back to the bend.

"Dad?" She says a few seconds later, a rough edge to her voice.

He turns, a swift, jerky movement, and his eyes are that hopeful, fond again.

"Yes, Emma?"

"I'm in love with Regina."

She chokes it out, an accident, an awful feeling of hopelessness overtaking her at _hearing_ the crack in the syllables, the wobble in them.

David's wrapping her up in a tight hug only seconds later, one hand around her back, the other at the base of her head, and she just lets herself _fall_ into him. Lets that heaviness supersede her muscles, lets it sag her shoulders, heave in her chest.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck and surprises even herself with the intensity of her first sob. It rings about in her ears, sends a tremble through her body. She feels David's hold grow firmer and light kisses press into the top of her hair.

It takes her a full minute to hear what he's whispering.

"I know, sweetheart, I know, it's okay, shh."

She pulls back, sniffling and wiping furiously at her eyes. "You knew?"

"Oh, Emma," he breathes. "Of course I knew."

 

* * *

 

"How could you have known? _I_ didn't even know until we had – " her eyes widen, choking on the words. "Until the other night," she amends, cheeks flushed.

She sees David wince at the slip up she's sure no Dad wants to hear from his daughter _ever_ and he clears his throat.

"You're my daughter. And I know love when I see it."

"And you aren't… _mad_ at the recipient of that love?"

David laughs, full and throaty.

"A few years ago? I'd have been _furious_." His eyes shine, smile unwavering. Emma's heart thuds against her ribcage. "She's different now, changed." His hand moves to cover hers, picking mindlessly at a loose thread in her spandex. "Your mother and I love and support you, Emma. No matter who you choose to be with." He shakes his head then, smile turning wry. "And if there's one person in this town who loves more fiercely than you do, it's Regina. How could we be mad at you for loving her?"

Emma snorts. "I'm not _choosing_ to be with her. She's already got a soulmate and I…I have Killian. Plus," she says, shrugging, "she doesn't feel the same way...and she never will," she murmurs.

She turns to look out the window, watching the trees whir by, feeling like it's some sort of metaphor for her life. Whooshing past her without any sense of control over it, rendered only to watch, helpless against its motion as she has been her entire life.

David remains silent and squeezes at her hand once before bringing it back to the steering wheel. She's thankful for it.

She continues to watch the trees, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep those goddamn _tears_ from falling again.

 

* * *

 

"David, I'm not really in the mood for – "

"Just one hour. On me."

She gives him a long look, his smile beaming, completely dopey and reminding her of Henry, and she sighs as she steps out of the cruiser.

"One hour," she relents. "And I want like three grilled cheeses."

He wraps an arm around her shoulders as she comes up beside him and she's smiling when they both walk into Granny's.

And then she looks up and sees Henry. Sitting in a booth across from Regina.

Her head jerks up and their eyes meet. Regina's mouth parts, eyes going wide. Emma's stomach churns, red tinting her vision.

She clenches her jaw and ducks out of David's arms.

"Yeah, no," she grits out before turning swiftly, the bell clanging harshly with her exit.

She'll fucking _walk_ all the way back to her bug. On second thought, she'll run.

" _Emma_!"

No. No, no, _no_.

She elongates her strides and pumps her arms, breathing in through her nose and out her mouth, a steady rhythm, puffs of white smoke trailing behind her.

She probably looks ridiculous quite literally running away from her problems. _Problem_.

But that problem has already battered her heart a few times more than she ever thought she'd allow so she doesn't stop. Not even when the problem keeps calling her name.

She only stops when a whirl of purple smoke appears a few feet in front of her. She collides into Regina, an undignified _oof_ leaving plum lips.

Emma's hands shoot to Regina's shoulders and she feels Regina's grip at her waist. She sucks in a sharp breath and then shoves. _Hard_.

"Leave me the _hell_ alone, Regina," Emma barks.

"Emma, please, I want to – " she recovers quickly from the stumble but stays where she is. She doesn't move to step closer, just holds up her hands, palms out, eyes imploring.

"I don't give a goddamn _what_ you want. _Leave me alone_." She moves past her, making sure their shoulders don't touch, and she tenses her spine as she does so, waiting for the grab at her wrist.

It never comes and a small part of her sinks with disappointment.

 

* * *

 

She's at the station later that night – desperate for the need to keep her mind from straying – when her cellphone buzzes in her pocket.

It's Regina.

She sneers and ignores it. Tosses it on the desk. On top of the mountainous pile of paperwork she's _not_ doing.

The screen on her phone lights up again. Regina.

"Seriously?" She leans forward and clicks the lock button again.

It goes off not three seconds later.

Emma snatches it off the desk and jams down on the lock button before swiping her thumb to shut it off.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Regina. Take a fucking hint."

The phone in the office blinks and blares to life and Emma jumps to answer it, adrenaline already pumping through her at being able to _do_ something. _Finally_.

"Sheriff Swan speaking," she says, a little breathless, hand already moving to her keys.

"Emma, it's Robin - "

There's a rustling and then a loud scraping sound, as if he'd dragged the phone across sandpaper, and Emma winces, lifting the phone away from her ear a bit. His muffled, garbled voice comes through a second later. "Yes, I'm talking to - no, Regina, sit down. _Please_." There's a loud clunk and then the line goes dead.

Emma stares at the phone, brow knitted together, before placing it back in its holder.

It rings again about 30 seconds later.

"Robin?"

He gives a long suffering sigh. "I'm sorry for that, Emma, it - Regina..." He trails off and Emma feels her jaw set.

"You were the one calling me weren't you? Why are you using Regina's cell phone?"

Anxiety jolts through her then, the previous phone call still fresh in her mind, the unease in Robin's voice...

"Wait, is...is she okay?"

"Well...she's..." There's a pause and Emma's heart beats, beats, beats in her chest, hand tightening around the plastic of the phone.

" _Robin_ ," she grinds out, "is she _okay_?"

"Yes, yes, she's not injured or in danger or anything," he's apologetic in his tone and Emma takes in a ragged breath, eyes closing, hand loosening. _Jesus_.

"She's just..." He sighs again, this one laced with exasperation, and Emma's about three seconds away from pulling her hair out. "Emma," he says finally, "Regina is blind drunk and she won't leave the diner unless you come and retrieve her."

Emma blinks.

"I'm sorry...what?"

"She's holding Granny, and her rapidly declining supply of alcohol, hostage."

Regina's drunk. And...and holding...unless she...

Emma's nostrils flare, unwilling to feel...well, _feel_.

"You're her..." She trails off, not able to say _soulmate_ , "can't you just, I don't know, pick her up and carry her out of there? She's really tiny."

She hears Robin give a hearty chuckle. "And risk a fireball to the face? I think not. I've tried everything. Even Henry. He left an hour ago."

" _Henry_ saw her like that?" A pang of... _something_ hits her square in the gut at that. Something like sympathy, like a shared need to not be seen so vulnerable, so _weak_ , by the one person they both care about most shooting through her and making her want to just _hold_ Regina. But then the anger she feels at Henry seeing his mother _drunk_ supersedes her growing desire to comfort.

"I'll be there in five."

It's more like three.

Because she's angry and she's hurt and she's _in love_ , and she curses the day she ever laid eyes on Regina. So goddamn _breathtaking_ in that grey dress. Even with the fake, too broad smiles and dark, dark eyes full of distrust and a fierceness Emma'd found instantly enthralling.

She sees her bent over the counter as soon as she walks in, empty shot glasses littering the marble in front of her, and she's momentarily shocked into a standstill at the amount of them.

Granny gives her a withering look, as if this is _her_ fault, and shoves a key in her hand as she sidles up beside Regina.

"You're lucky I didn't take my crossbow to her. Clean those glasses and lock up when you're done. I've lost hours of sleep because of _her_." She gives one last glare to Regina, who bats her eyelashes innocently and juts out her lips, before storming to the back.

Emma blinks and blinks before she sees Regina lifting up off of the barstool and over the counter, fingers wrapping around a bottle of tequila.

Emma shoots forward and snatches it out of her hand. "Yeah, no. You're done."

Regina huffs and flops, _flops_ , back down on the stool, fingering petulantly at one of the empty glasses in front of her.

She turns to Robin with wide eyes. "How much has she had to drink?"

His eyes are full of sympathy Emma's still working on _not_ feeling as he glances over at her. She does not and _will_ _not_ feel sorry for Regina drowning her problems in alcohol.

"I'm not altogether certain. She'd finished off half a bottle of _that_ ," he points to the tequila still in Emma's hand, "before I showed up. Who knows what she had prior."

Emma scrubs at her forehead and screws her eyes shut against a forming headache. "Alright," she sighs, eyes finding Regina's back. She's tracing a circle around the lip of one of the glasses now, slumped to one side. "I'll take care of her. Will you...would you mind keeping an eye on Henry?" She unhooks one of her keys and hands it to him. He eyes her curiously.

"She doesn't know I have it," she rushes to say, eyes flickering over to Regina, "not that I've...I've never used it...Henry gave it to me a while ago and I kept it in case there was ever an emerge - " Robin's giving her an odd, sort of bemused look and Emma clears her throat, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Roland's with my merry men and I told them I wouldn't be back until the morning so it would be my pleasure."

Emma's stomach lurches at _I told them I wouldn't be back until the morning_ and she nods, forcing a smile.

"Thank you," she whispers.

She feels a hand on her shoulder and she glances up.

"Whatever has happened between the two of you? I hope you resolve it. She cares about you."

He squeezes her arm before brushing past her, the soft ding of the bell above the entrance sounding as he leaves, and she takes in a deep breath before sliding up onto the barstool adjacent to Regina, déjà vu washing over her.

_Shots? Sure, why not?_

"You know for someone who claims to have a built-in lie detector, you're certainly terrible at the act of lying itself."

Emma starts, looking up into hazy brown eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

Regina nods her head toward the direction of the door. It's an incredibly lazy movement and Emma can't help but _like_ this pouty, lax version of Regina.

Even if she's still mad at her. _Very_ mad.

"You lied to Robin. About the key. Also," she says with a lifted index finger. It hovers in the air before her entire hand smacks down to the counter," I did know about it."

Emma's eyes widen. "You did?"

Regina chuckles, the sound low and throaty, and it sets the hairs on Emma's arm on end. Bleary eyes meet her own. "You're about as surreptitious as an elephant, dear."

Emma's head tilts at that, a snort leaving her lips before she can censor it. Regina's drunk insults are _terrible_. And adorable. Emma grinds her teeth.

"You never said anything."

Regina waves a jaunty hand in the air, resting her head in the crook of her left arm as she blows against a puddle of some amber liquid on the counter.

"You came for me," she whispers, eyes on the puddle. It's small and vulnerable and _exposed_ and _Regina's drunk, Emma, drunk._

"Yeah, well Robin sounded pretty exhausted over the phone. And he told me Henry came by."

Regina shifts in her barstool, sucking in her bottom lip. "He did, yes," she breathes, nodding gently.

Emma's anger falters a bit, trips up. She's left fumbling for it, scrabbling at its vestiges, fingertips just barely grazing it before it falls away completely.

Because there are forming tears in Regina's eyes and no matter how much she wants to feel nothing for this woman, she simply feels everything.

"He's probably going to ask me about this," Emma says softly, offering a figurative hand to the shoulder.

Regina glances up, searches her face warily. As if she'd been expecting a reprimand. Expecting it and willing to _take_ it.

"Probably," Regina whispers.

And Emma's not used to this. To a Regina who looks so soft, so _human_. She's not used to a Regina who looks perpetually prepared for a lashing.

She's completely _raw_ in this moment and it's got Emma in a fucking _mess_.

"Wanna tell me why you're trying to drink yourself into an early grave?"

It's a clear topic change and Regina eyes her knowingly before lifting up and shrugging, allowing it.

"I'm not very adept at handling situations I have no control over."

It's cryptic and _not_ because what else would she be referring to? But Emma fidgets with the key Granny'd given her and doesn't say _yeah, I know_. 

"Most people aren't," she offers instead. 

Emma thinks of titles she's never wanted nor asked for. Of parents who'd wanted her but couldn't keep her. Of foster systems and lost boys. Of orphans who've never felt at home in the world and jail cells with cold walls and harsh artificial lighting. She thinks of grey dresses and fierce, fierce eyes. Of floppy brown hair and scarves too small for rapidly broadening shoulders.

Regina snorts, an undignified, sloppy sound. "Most people don't cast curses over entire realms or murder hundreds of innocent people because of it though."

Emma blinks, alarmed at the crassness of the admission, the loosened tongue Regina's seemed to have acquired along with the drooping in her shoulders.

"At least you don't run," Emma says, then stops short. Regina's eyes snap up to hers.

There's something shimmering in those dark, cloudy irises and it makes Emma's palms itch.

"You don't run from me." Regina says, voice rough and laden with meaning. "Aside from today, you're usually kicking and punching your way _into_ my life, not out of it."

_Regina's drunk, Emma. Very, very drunk._

Emma lets out a shuddering breath, not quite able to grasp ahold of that mantra and steel her features, calm her thudding heart.

"Why did you ask me to come here tonight, Regina?"

"Because I think I may have made a mistake."

Emma tenses, heart seizing, a flutter of hope blossoming unbidden and ill-advised in her chest.

"A mistake..." Emma echoes.

Regina's eyes downcast to the counter, her thumb tracing patterns along the marble.

"This morning...I shouldn't have been so harsh with you. I didn't - you caught me off guard and," she gives a bitter, watery chuckle, "we both know what happens when I'm taken by surprise."

"You become a heartless bitch?" Because Regina's apologizing for the _harshness_ of her words not the actual words themselves while also making it seem like it's still Emma's fault and Emma's so _done_ with always carrying burdens that aren't hers to carry.

Regina veers back at the comment, stricken, _hurt_.

It's the hurt that sets Emma off, fans at the flames of her anger, intensifies it.

She has absolutely _no_ _right_ to feel hurt in this situation.

"You didn't just _say_ words, Regina. You fucking _wrecked_ me with them." She's disgusted with herself for the hot prick of tears and the tremor in her voice. She waves a hand and all the glasses assemble themselves on the shelf under the bar, spotless.

Regina's mouth hangs open. Emma stands.

"You didn't make a mistake. You were afraid so you did the only thing you're actually good at." Emma tosses the key to the counter. Regina's eyes move to it as it skitters to a stop in front of her. Emma waits until they tip back up to find her own before she says her parting shot.

"You pushed me away. And this time? I'm letting you. Lock up when you're finished moping."

She turns to leave.

She's about a foot from the door when Regina's voice reaches her ears.

"How do you expect me to get home like this?"

Emma turns back to face her. "Well, I don't know if you're aware or not but you have these things called _legs_ and they can take you great distances if you move them."

Regina's jaw constricts, nostrils flaring, and it's the first familiar expression she's seen on her since she walked into the diner.

Regina glares at her, unimpressed.

Emma nods at the cellphone on the counter, thumbs tucking into the loops of her jeans.

"You also have a cellphone. And a more than willing soulmate." Emma opens the door.

"Call him."

She walks out, closing the door behind her, the sound of the bell clanking loudly above her with the action, _she cares about you_  bouncing around in her head like a fucking fist to the chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliched way to get Regina to apologize (kind of)? Eh. Whatever. I have this weird affinity for a drunk Regina so I went with it. 
> 
> Side note: I appreciate every single one of you and your continued interest in this story. Thank you. 
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly extremely shocked and rather proud of myself for kind of making good on all of my update promises. This is a big deal, people. We deserve drinks for it. 
> 
> Okay, so a fair warning. There is quite a bit of OQ in this chapter but it is absolutely necessary, I promise. I'm trying my very hardest to stay as true to every character as I can and this chapter was actually kicking my ass because of my strict adherence to that. 
> 
> I'm not sure how many more chapters there will be...at least two or three, I think, but just to assuage any worry that this chapter might elicit: this is a SQ story, with a very happy ending...it just might take our girls a little bit longer to get there. 
> 
> Also, there's some formatting wonkiness that I attempted and failed to fix so if you notice it, sorry. 
> 
> And I just wanted to say a quick but wholly reverent thank you to all of you lovely people and your even lovelier comments. They truly make my days brighter and I feel so ridiculously honored to be able to have your continued interest and loyalty in this story.
> 
> Oh. Another warning because I feel like it might possibly need one. There are brief mentions of suicide and possible triggering because of that. So, um, proceed with caution? It's not...it's just said to piss Regina off, really. I don't believe Emma would ever, ever do that. Certainly not in this story, anyway.

“Emma?”

  
She’s leaning against the bug in her driveway, arms crossed and face unwelcoming.

  
“What are you – ”

  
“I decided I wasn’t finished yelling at you.”

  
Regina stops about ten feet away, her own arms crossing with the chill in the air. She arches a brow, lips tugging at the corners.

  
“Is that so?”

  
Emma’s scowl deepens, pushing herself off the bug and closing the distance between them in a few strides, leaving about a foot or two between them. She stuffs her hands in her front pockets and draws her shoulders up, body rippling with a shiver as a burst of wind nips at her exposed collarbones.

  
Regina’s body answers in kind and she sighs, irritated because Emma is resolute and _stubborn_ and they’re most definitely going to freeze to death if they continue to stand out here for much longer. Her hands tighten around her biceps. “Fine. But we can have this discussion inside where it’s – ”

  
“Robin’s inside,” Emma interrupts a little too quickly and Regina’s eyes flicker to the light on the porch.

  
She’d forgotten about that. About _him_.

  
“So you made me _walk_ all the way home just to show up here and wait for me?” She’d broken a heel about two blocks back and she’s almost certain her toes are permanently frozen into the lining of her Jimmy Choo’s. Her _favorite_ ones.

  
Emma snickers and Regina’s fingers twitch. “It’s not my fault you don’t dress for the weather.”

  
Regina takes a calming breath. It’s quite the task when Emma looks so damn _smug_.

  
She steps past Emma and opens the passenger door, the hinges creaking with protest. Emma’s hand grips at it, right above her wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”

  
“You’re too afraid to go inside and I’m not going to lose any toes over your inability to curb your impulses.”

  
Emma’s jaw clenches but she lets go of the door, stomping petulantly to the other side before joining Regina.

  
She turns the key and the bug sputters to life, the seats vibrating beneath them. Emma turns the dial for the heat all the way up and a second later icy cold air shoots into Regina’s face.

  
“Maybe it’s not my toes I’m going to lose after all,” Regina drawls as the feeling in her nose starts to fade.

  
Emma glowers at her. “Just give her a minute, it’ll warm up.”

  
There’s a tense silence, a full minute passing as Regina finally starts to feel warmth trickle back into her fingers, and she rubs her hands together at the sudden tingling.

  
“I’m still waiting for my verbal evisceration, Miss Swan.”

  
She sees Emma’s head snap to look at her in her peripheral and Regina finds her eyes, a dark, dark blue under the blanket of nightfall.

  
Emma holds her gaze until she abruptly breaks it, hands moving to grip at the wheel. “Whatever. I just wanted to make sure you made it back okay.”

  
Her knuckles are white, stark and bony against the darkness of the bug, and Regina narrows her eyes at her.

  
“No. You came here to ‘yell at me.’ So yell away, dear. I’m finally starting to get the feeling back in my hands and you have about five minutes before I build up enough courage to venture back out into the cold.”

  
“Why didn’t you call Robin to come and pick you up?”

  
“Because I didn’t _need_ him to,” Regina snaps. “I have legs, remember?” She gives Emma a sickly sweet smile and Emma rolls her eyes, her hands releasing their hold on the wheel and falling into her lap.

  
“You do know he thinks you’re dropping me off here, right? He’s surely heard _this thing_ when you started it.”

Emma visibly bristles, head dipping to look up at the mansion through the window shield.

“Then get out and go to him. No one’s stopping you.”

Regina sighs, mood quickly growing from mild irritation to exasperation at this woman’s unique brand of obstinacy. “Bait me all you want, Emma. I’m not the one who obviously has a lot to say here. You are. And I’m unusually compliant this evening so I suggest you take advantage of it.”

  
“You know sometimes I wish I had never stayed.” Her eyes are on her hands in her lap when she says it – sans gloves like she is and they’re both idiots for forgetting to wear them – an odd note to her voice.

  
Regina’s brow furrows. “In Storybrooke?”

  
“I could have left at any time when the town was still cursed. That wolf couldn’t have stopped me forever.”

  
Regina’s mouth parts with surprise at the admission. “You’d have never gotten to know Henry,” she says softly, a heaviness settling in her gut at the thought of her son never having his birth mother in his life. She doesn’t begrudge Emma for this anymore.

  
“I know,” Emma rasps and Regina blinks in shock at the quake in it. Emma’s _crying_.

  
“Emma,” Regina breathes, hand automatically reaching over to rest atop Emma’s, wringing themselves into a frenzy in her lap.

  
Emma slips her hands from underneath it and Regina squashes the pang of _rejection_ before it can even find roots.

  
She hears Emma give a watery chuckle and deep golden hair sways with the motion of her head shaking back and forth.

  
“I didn’t,” Emma says. “I wouldn’t have. Even though you did give it your best shot.” She shoots Regina a wry smirk and despite herself she chuckles, the sound rumbling about in her chest. It’s far too affectionate for her liking and she breaks their gaze to look up at the mansion, the kitchen light she can see through the side window. She wonders which room Robin’s in.

  
“I love my son. I love my parents. I love my baby brother. I even love Killian.”

  
Regina feels jealousy white hot and searing jolt through her in an instant; she grinds her back teeth.

  
Emma’s eyes keep forward as she continues. “And I’m okay with that. It’s…it’s enough. It can be,” Emma sucks in a breath. It wobbles. “I can make it be.”

  
Regina wonders if Emma’s forgotten she’s here and she shifts a little in the seat, the sound of the leather creaking making Emma blink a few times, head tilting toward the sound. She clears her throat and dips her head, hands rubbing together as if to warm them.

  
“I don’t need your love to be okay, Regina.” Dark azure meets an even darker brown. “If you don’t feel the way I do, it’s _okay_. I’m not going to self-destruct or drown myself in the tub because of it.” Emma gives a doleful chuckle and Regina’s heart jolts at the offhanded remark, the keen _familiarity_ in it. “I’m pretty used to people not loving me the way I wish they would. At picking someone else over me.” She smiles up at Regina then and it’s filled with nothing but sadness. _Resignation_.

  
_No, it’s only been a day. Don’t give up on me. Please. Please, don’t give up on us._

  
Regina swallows down the words.

  
“I just always thought you _did_ feel the same way,” Emma whispers before blinking at herself like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  
Regina’s struck motionless by it, body tense and coiled and it’s _too much, too much, too much._

  
“I’m so sorry, Emma, I – ”

  
It’s entirely the wrong thing to say but she realizes her mistake a second too late and Emma’s face twists with anger.

  
“Yeah, I know you are, Regina.” She turns the heat down a little and gives Regina a hard stare before nodding toward the door. “Your five minutes are up, I think.”

  
“Oh,” is all she can say because Emma’s in _pain_ and she’s hiding it behind sad, sad smiles and too soft words and Regina doesn’t want to get out of the car.

  
Emma must see it in her face because her own steels even further, brow smoothing out with the action. “Don’t want to keep the soulmate waiting too long, Regina. Might give him ideas. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?”

  
Regina’s nostrils flare and she opens the door before stepping out, the cold air hitting her like a slap to the face. It does nothing to temper her ire. She bends, finding Emma’s eyes. “Do try and stay away from any bathtubs tonight, Miss Swan. Wouldn’t want you to be too tempted.”

  
She’s just leaning up when she hears Emma’s snort and murmured, “you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  
She peers back down at Emma, eyes wide, and hand tightening around the door handle.

She doesn’t understand _why_ the comment makes her so goddamn _angry_. “ _Excuse_ me?”

  
Emma whips her head to face her, eyes piercing. “I _said_ , you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me out of the way? Where I can’t ruin the precious pixie dust destined soulmate love you have.” Her eyes shift again and her head tilts. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t like that. Maybe you wouldn’t care at all. Since I mean nothing to you, since you don’t _lo_ – ”

  
“ _Dios, cállate_.” Her eyes screw shut and she feels the metal beneath her hand give a little. “Just _stop_.”

  
She shivers against another particularly strong gust of wind and opens her eyes to lock onto wide, _livid_ ones. “I said I would never be _in_ love with you. I did _not_ say I didn’t care about you. And I swear to _God_ , Emma Swan, if you ever so much as _think_ about doing _that_ , I will kill you myself.”

  
“I don’t believe you.”

  
Regina veers back at that, a spasm of hurt in her gut at the firm disbelief. Had she really been so convincing this morning?

  
“Emma. I know I’ve not given you any reason to after this morning…but _please_ believe me when I tell you that I do care about you.”

  
Emma sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes flutter, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

  
“I meant,” she starts, voice rough, and she clears her throat against it, “I meant I don’t believe that you could never be in love with me.”

  
Regina stiffens, lips pursing. “It’s too cold for this, Emma. And we’ve talked long enough about this for one day. Go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  
She rights herself and shuts the door, halfway down the sidewalk before she hears the slam of another door. She closes her eyes, sighing heavily.

  
“No, _no_. You know what? You’re right, I do have a lot to say and if this is the only night I have to say it where you’ll _listen_ then you’re damn well going to listen, Regina.”

  
She whips around and tries not to shiver too visibly when she wraps her arms around herself. “Miss Swan, I am drunk and you are angry. I can’t feel my nose _again_ and I’d like to go inside and see my son. Could you please, for once in your life, listen to me and _go home_?”

  
“Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.” There’s a fierceness in her eyes, a vibrancy she’s always been in thrall to. Emma’s completely exposed in this moment, trembling and _raw_.

  
“Emma – ”

  
“Do you know why I never allowed myself to feel anything for you?”

  
Regina’s mouth snaps shut at that, breath leaving her lungs in a quick rush, dissipating about her in a puff of white translucence.

  
Emma pushes on, hands in fists at her sides. “Because I knew you would react this way. Because I _knew_ , fucking _knew_ it would play out like this. So I pushed them back, completely just beat myself up whenever I slipped up and they tried to get my attention. I didn’t allow myself to feel anything for you.” Her eyes dart to the bushes over Regina’s shoulder and she inhales deeply. “And then I started to let up a little. Friendship. Friendship was okay. Was something I found I _wanted_ with you. Something I’d _always_ wanted with you. And do you remember how surprised you sounded that night? And then the phone calls. And it was like everything I had ever successfully shoved down and put away for good just burst through the cracks and overtook and – and I’m with Killian and you’re with your soulmate and we had sex through a _goddamn phone_ and I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anybody and you _fucking told me you’d never be in love with me_.”

Regina lets out a pained exhale and forces herself not to take a step toward Emma. To not blurt out that she lied. She lied and she does. Oh god, she _is_.

  
“I was falling in love with you and finally becoming okay with it and you had to ruin it like you do _everything_.” Emma spits it out, like it’s vile on her tongue, like she abhors it, abhors _her_ , and Regina feels her heart sink, sink, sink.

  
Emma’s eyes are watery, completely _torn_ , and she watches as they flicker to the mansion, watches as a hand uncurls and points a finger toward it.

  
“He loves you but does he love the parts only I’ve seen? Does he know all the evil you’ve done? All the lives you’ve taken? _Marian_? He’s lost her _twice_ now because of you. He’s your _soul_ mate and yet he knows nothing of the darkness in yours.”

  
Emma takes a step forward, just a foot between them with the action, and when Regina blinks she realizes she’s crying.

  
Emma’s face is a cruel snarl now. So much _anger_. “He wouldn’t be able to handle it. His little heart couldn’t understand. He’d leave you and take Roland with him. Who wants a child around _The Evil Queen_?”

  
Regina gasps out at that, a choked little thing that wrenches at the muscle beneath her ribcage and doesn’t stop. Emma seems to come back to herself for a brief moment, a flicker of remorse registering across her features before she closes the distance between them completely.

  
A palm presses into her breastbone and Regina’s breath hitches in her throat.

  
“You can’t love something you don’t understand, Regina.” Her eyes are gentle now, softer. “He can’t love every part of you. He only knows the good.”

  
Regina’s eyes flutter and her heart thumps against Emma’s palm. “ _Emma_.”

  
“I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve seen _all_ of you. The lightest parts…” Emma’s nails scratch gently down until they’re almost dipping below the ‘v’ in her blouse – Regina shudders, “and the darkest.”

  
Emma’s eyes tip up then, swirl with an emotion she’s grown accustomed to seeing in those blue-green irises.

  
“I love every single part of you,” Emma whispers, a warm puff breaking across Regina’s lips. _So close_. “And I always will.”

  
She takes her hand away, steps back, and Regina yearns for the warmth immediately.

 

Emma doesn’t look over her shoulder once as she walks away from her.

 

* * *

  
  
“Regina?”

  
“Yes, it’s me.” She rubs at her forehead, swaying slightly as her grip on the door tightens. She feels a sturdy hand at the small of her back a second later and her head snaps up to meet blue-grey eyes.

  
She winces and groans at the sudden movement, regretting it instantly. Her hand comes up to cradle her temple.

  
She’s urged forward gently and hears the soft click of the front door behind her as she makes her way up the few steps to the foyer and into the kitchen, intent on a glass of water.

  
“Did Emma not want to come in?”

  
Regina sputters as she takes a large gulp of the ice cold liquid before setting the glass down on the island with a trembling hand. _From the cold, surely._

  
“No,” Regina rasps, leaning back against the counter.

  
Robin’s brow creases and Regina fumbles for an explanation.

  
“She’s not particularly… _fond_ of me at the moment.” Is it a lie?

  
Robin leans forward to rest his elbows on the island and nods, eyes curious and gentle, _patient_.

  
Regina fidgets. Feels guilt, swift and sharp, flood in her veins.

  
“Because of the argument you two had this morning.”

  
Regina startles. “How did you…?”

  
Robin chuckles. “You did tell me earlier. Whilst…” he gestures toward her, a soft smirk gracing his lips.

  
Regina nods, flush deepening. She’d said a lot of things tonight she really wishes she could take back. A few of them she hopes Robin hadn’t paid much mind to. “Right.”

  
“So are you going to tell me what’s going on between you two?”

  
There’s a dull, incessant pounding behind her eyelids and she rubs at them with the pads of her forefinger and thumb, feeling a frantic need for a shower. And some toothpaste.

  
_He only knows the good._

  
“Do you think perhaps we could have this discussion tomorrow?”

  
“Of course,” he says, ever obliging. “Henry’s upstairs sleeping.” There’s a beat of silence and Regina looks up. He seems a bit lost, eyes darting from her hands to the stairs, and Regina’s stomach knots.

  
“Do you…would you like me to stay or should I – ” he points a thumb over his shoulder and Regina swallows.

  
_I love every part of you. And I always will._

  
“I…I think it’d be best if you didn’t tonight, Robin.”

  
“Because of Henry or because of Emma?” It’s sharper than she’s ever heard him speak to her before and her head jerks back a bit at the tone. He looks immediately contrite and Regina just sighs, coming to rest her hands palms flat ( _don’t think about it, don’t think about it_ ) against his chest, eyes on her fingers smoothing at the fabric.

  
“Because I’m still very drunk and I think you’ve seen enough of me in this state already.” She tries for a wry smile but it feels wane even to her. Robin cups her face and her eyes flutter when he cards his fingers through her hair, his thumbs pressing and massaging gently against the throbbing just below her temples. She tries not to think of slender fingers and white knuckles. Of smooth palms and vibrant eyes.

  
“I really don’t mind it, Regina.” One of his thumbs roves over her bottom lip and her mouth parts with it, eyes still closed, mind present in another moment, body swaying with the feeling. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers and Regina barely hears it.

  
She does feel the scrape of stubble brush across her lips though and she sucks in a breath, hands fisting at the fabric of his shirt.

  
Before she can stop her mind from thinking it, it whispers _not as soft as Emma’s_ and she retaliates by tugging him into her and kissing him roughly, tongue and teeth and frantic, frantic, frantic, and by the time she realizes what exactly it is she’s doing, her skirt’s being bunched up at her waist and Robin’s hoisting her up onto the island.

  
“Robin,” she rasps, pushing lightly at his breastbone. “Robin, _stop_.” She twists her mouth away and he lets out a whoosh of air, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. His hands move to brace himself against the edge of the island at either side of her hips.

  
“I’m sorry,” he exhales into her neck before leaning up and finding her eyes. “When I offered to take care of you I swear this wasn’t how I meant it.” His breath is still irregular and just bordering on panting and Regina chuckles, head dipping, hand moving to tuck a thick of hair behind her ear.

  
“It was my fault. I kissed you.”

  
Robin gives a coquettish quirk of the lips. “Well, I’m certainly not complaining.”

  
She can’t bite back the smile or the roll of her eyes and she gives him a firm shove before sliding down from the island and fixing her skirt. Robin smooths out a wrinkled fold in the shoulder of her blouse and it hits her then; stills her hands and parts her mouth.

  
What she’d just done. What she’d done with Emma not 24 hours ago. The conversation she and Emma had just shared. What she’s hiding from him. What she’s hiding from _Emma_.

  
She’s keeping secrets from both of them and they don’t deserve it.

  
She just doesn’t know how to _fix it_ without hurting them even further. A voice in her mind whispers _well, you can’t possibly hurt Emma more than you already have_ and another answers back _oh, of course you can_.

  
“Hey,” warm knuckles brush across her cheekbone. “Are you alright?”

  
_He’s being too sweet, too gentle, caring far too much for what you deserve right now_. She inhales sharply.

  
“You should go.” She wraps her hand around his and moves it back to his side.

  
Robin frowns. “Regina…please talk to me. What’s going on here?”

  
“Robin, _please_. I don’t wish to talk about this tonight.”

  
It’s as close to desperate as she’s ever been with him, apart from maybe _you need to forget me_  and she angles her body to keep from brushing against him as she makes her way to the foyer, fingers on her lips, at the foot of the stairs before he speaks again.

  
“So is this why you and Emma fought?”

  
Regina whirls around, heart stuttering in her chest.

  
“What?”

  
His features are hard now but his eyes are not. They’re softened by what Regina thinks she recognizes as confusion, deep and winding. He makes a vague gesture toward her.

  
“Do you keep running away from her as well?”

  
And Regina feels the laugh bubbling up and breaking past her lips before she can swallow it down. Robin startles at the loud sound and Regina’s eyes snap up to the top of the stairs before crossing her arms in front of her chest and clearing her throat.

  
“Sorry. It’s just…according to Emma, I don’t run from people, I push them away.”

  
“Perhaps it’s only her you do that to, then. Because from where I’m standing you’re not pushing but simply hiding.”

  
Regina jerks her head up at the word choice and for a split second she sees absolute clarity in his eyes. She swallows.

  
_He’s surely heard this thing when you started it._

  
“You know don’t you?” It’s a whisper, feeble and just barely audible.

  
“Know _what_ , Regina?”

  
There’s that sharpness in his words again, an anger he doesn’t apologize for (nor should he). But it also sounds desperate, so very, very _desperate_. Like he’s hoping maybe he’s wrong. Like he’s hoping, hoping, hoping but already knows it to be true. Knows it like she knows this is going to be the last night he ever steps foot in her house like this again.

  
Regina feels the burn of tears on her eyelids and wishes with all her might that she could assuage that desperation inside of him, that desperation mirrored by her own not seconds earlier. Wishes that she could wrap her arms around him and tell him that nothing has happened, that she loves him, and Emma’s just a friend.

  
She wishes his love was enough.

  
“ _Robin_ ,” her voice cracks harshly and she closes her eyes against it, warm tears falling with the action, and when she opens them again Robin’s own are glistening. “Robin, I’m so, _so_ sorry, I – ”

  
His jaw constricts, eyes turning steely, and she’s too stunned by the suddenness of it to look away. “Tell me,” he grits out, “I need to hear you say it.”

  
“Robin,” she whimpers because she can’t stand hurting him, she _can’t_. “Please...don’t. You _know_ what I’m going to say.”

  
“I think I deserve at least this this much from you.”

  
And Regina wilts at that, arms sagging around herself, jaw contracting and then relaxing as she tastes the words on her mouth, words she hasn’t even spoken to Emma yet.

  
But he _does_ deserve to know. She owes him this much, at the very least.

  
“I’ve…I’m in love with Emma,” she breathes, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

  
He nods with only a slight flinch that she’s sure she wouldn’t have caught had she not been looking for it and steps forward, heart _aching_.

  
“Robin, I’m so _sor_ – ”

  
“How long?” It’s a fierce whisper and Regina stops short.

  
“I’m sorry?”

  
“How _long_ have you felt this way toward her?” His voice rises in volume and her eyes find the stairs again.

  
“Robin, I don’t – ”

  
“Before us?” He presses, face absolutely _destroyed_.

  
“Yes,” Regina croaks, “long before you ever came into my life.”

  
There are tears building up on his eyelids again and she can see how hard he’s trying to keep them from falling this time. He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, strides forward with an ardent purpose, and she’s backed up against the wall before she can cognize it.

  
She whimpers into his mouth, feels the warm wetness of his tears, _tastes_ them.

  
“I will always love you, Regina. _Always_.”

  
And then he’s gone.

  
She slides to the floor, cradles her knees to her chest, and cries. She cries for Robin and she cries for Emma. She cries for a lion tattoo and a fairy betrayed. She cries for an orphan and years worth of pain. She cries for her son who’s sleeping upstairs in his room. She cries for a town she’d created out of revenge and a stable boy who died because he loved her. She cries for a mother who only ever wanted the best for her and never showed it properly and a father who was as spineless as he was kind. She cries for a sister so like herself and yet so very different and a teacher who sought only to corrupt. She cries for the life she’d been given and had so little control over. She cries for lives lost and queens who’d never wanted anything but to be free.

  
She cries for her lies and her missed opportunities.

  
She cries for second chances and a love she wishes was enough.

  
She cries for vibrant eyes and smooth palms.

  
And then when she can cry no longer, she sleeps.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really was going to have Emma and Hook deal with their stuff in this chapter but Regina has a mind of her own and wouldn't allow it. Plus, this chapter was already running too long. 
> 
> Also, if I had a dollar for every time I made both of my characters drunk in one fic, I'd have like three dollars. 
> 
> I'm sorry I've been taking so long in between updates. School truly is an incessant bastard. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I think it's my favorite one so far. 
> 
> And just an added, ever grateful, THANK YOU for sticking with me and this story. It means more than I can ever express.
> 
> Oh, fun game. Take a shot every time you see the word 'glass' in this chapter.

She plops her elbow on the counter and jabs a finger, hair falling into her eyes a little when she tilts her head. "You know the last time I was drunk," a hiccup, "I told her that her voice was hot but also dumb." She scrunches her face, lets out a snigger. "Which is basically a perfect description of her: hot but really, really dumb. She's d-u-m-b, _dumb_."

The bartender, some super sweet rosy-cheeked guy, gives her a soft, patient smile before reaching for another glass to dry, his eyes a deep chocolate. They remind her of Regina's.

She gestures toward her glass and he pours her some more Jack Daniel's.

"I think _one_ of those adjectives is appropriate," he says with a pointed eyebrow arch, the corner of his lip curving into a gentle smirk. Emma watches the methodic movement of his hands, finger smoothing along the edge of her own glass. She decides she only likes those kinds of smirks from one person.

Emma gives him the stink-eye. It probably looks more like a pout. "Hey, back off buddy, she's mine."

His eyebrows raise and he chuckles, the sound all wrong and far too hearty. He puts up a hand as he sets a glass down and goes for another. "Hey, she's great and all but definitely not my type. I can't really go for anyone who scares the ever loving shit out of me."

Emma barks out a laugh, downs her drink, gestures for another. He hesitates before she glowers at him and he sighs as he fills her glass once more.

"She's actually not scary at all, once you get to know her." She stares at the dark amber liquid and knits her brow against the hollow ache in her chest. She thinks of raspy chuckles and reading glasses that only she and Henry know about.

Her hand tightens around her glass, teeth grinding.

"She's just a frigid bitch." She tips the glass back and it comes down on the counter with a hard clink.

The bartender's (Jake?) blinking down at her like he doesn't know what to say to that, and he probably doesn't because she kind of just killed the mostly light-hearted bashing of Regina she'd been subjecting him to for the past hour and a half, so he just fills her glass again with a gentle "this one's on me."

Emma gives an appreciative head nod and raise of said glass and promptly chokes on it halfway through her swallow when she hears a very familiar voice somewhere to her right.

"Emma Swan!"

She coughs and wipes at her mouth and nose, throat burning and eyes watering, before turning to see who –

Fucking _shit_.

He claps her hard on the shoulder and she almost falls off her stool with the force of it.

"Didn't expect to see you here. Figured you'd gone home to get a good night's sleep. Sparring with Regina must be absolutely draining. Am I assuming correctly?"

Emma's kind of worried her jaw has permanently unhinged from the rest of her face. She blinks. And blinks. Robin continues to smile at her. It's a little too friendly. Verging on a grimace. Emma swallows. She's never seen him look so…unbalanced.

"Uhh," because what in the actual _fuck_ is about to happen here? "Yeah, um, yes. Very. I needed a drink after this one, actually." She tries for a laugh. It sounds more like a wheeze.

He nods his head and then turns to Jake who's looking back and forth between the both of them like some sort of tennis match and Emma just tries to slowly slip off her barstool as Robin orders a drink.

She's just got a foot on the floor when Robin's hand wraps around her bicep, not so gently. "Hey, whoa! Sit. Have a drink with me! I actually have something I want to ask you, if that's alright?"

And nope, no it is not alright because Emma's never, _ever_ seen this dude so forceful before and she's pretty sure she knows the reason why, and yeah, just _no_. No fucking thank you.

"Uh, okay. Y-yeah, sure." God _dammit_.

"Wonderful." He smiles again. It's not as brittle. Emma doesn't relax an inch.

"So," he says, taking a healthy gulp of his drink before mirroring Emma and lifting up to sit on the barstool adjacent to her. Jake's at the other end of the bar now, eyeing her every so often as he talks lowly to an older gentleman who's been here even longer than she has. "Did you and Regina get everything sorted?"

Emma sighs, feeling far too drunk for this conversation. Feeling not drunk enough. She rubs at her forehead.

"Robin, look. We both know why you're here so why don't you just tell me what you know and we can get this over with."

His jaw tenses briefly before he pushes his glass away, hand resting against the counter, body facing her. She's still got hers angled away from him, but she meets his eyes when she speaks.

She doesn't really know the guy, has had maybe a handful of conversations with him, so it shouldn't be all that shocking to see the anger hardening his features or glinting in his eyes – because it’s _completely_ well-founded – but...it kind of is. Because she's only ever seen him confused or distraught, or a combination of the two and even then he's always just seemed so... _innocuous_. Like he had this innate gentleness she guesses she can see the appeal in. Regina obviously does.

He deflates a moment later and sighs, closing his eyes and scrubbing a hand across his chin.

"She told me how she felt about you," he says, tone flat. Her heart thuds, stomach jolting a bit.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He lifts his head up to catch her eyes and she's not too distracted by his words to notice the dullness in his own. Her gut wrenches at the sight. So very familiar.

His brow furrows a second later as his gaze roves over her face. "You're confused." Not a question. He tilts his head and then something seems to click. He lets out a harsh exhale, a hybrid of a laugh and snort.

"She lied to you too, didn't she?" He shakes his head, smile wry. Like this is some really funny fucking joke she's supposed to be in on. He reaches for his glass and downs the contents of it in one swallow.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She doesn't like that goddamn look on his face, not at _all_ , and she digs her nails into the fabric of her jeans.

"She told me what you said to her this morning." At Emma's fabricated blank look, he gestures a little with his hand. "About her pushing you away." Emma blinks. Jake comes over and pours Robin another drink, leaving the bottle. He eyes Robin with suspicion before finding Emma's. Emma shakes her head and he gives a soft nod before walking back to the other end of the bar.

Robin twirls his glass, doesn't look up. "I told her that perhaps you were the only one she does that to because from where I'm sitting, all she's ever done is run from me."

Emma snorts. Pretty loudly. Robin jolts and looks up at her, eyes wide.

"Sorry," Emma mumbles, cheeks flushing. "It's just...well, uh." Her hand makes a flourish in front of her. "This is all a little ridiculous, I guess. The soulmate taking to the secret lover." She shakes her head as she chuckles, scratching a nail into a deep groove on the counter.

She stops and glances up when she's met with silence for a good twenty seconds.

His mouth is parted, glass stilled halfway to his mouth.

"Secret lover?" His voice trembles a little. Emma's stomach drops.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

She laughs again, averts her eyes, goes for a shoulder shrug.

"It's just, um, a figure of speech or something...I think?" She tries for one last smile. Robin looks ashen. _Shit_.

"Okay, umm," because no _way_ is the first conversation of this going to be with _her_ , "I don't think this is something you and I really should discuss so I'm just gonna..." she slides off her barstool and points a finger over his shoulder, toward the entrance.

"I guess I've always known there was something between you two."

It's not said unkindly and she's kind of reeling from the words themselves. She stops mid-stride, eyes on the door, the two or three shadow faces in the corner at a booth.

She turns to see Robin filling his glass to the brim.

She sighs and scrubs at her face, sitting back down. She holds up two fingers to Jake who nods at her and places two glasses in front of them, a bottle of tequila in his hand. She shrugs at Robin's look of surprise.

"We might as well get shit-faced together. Though you've got a lot of catching up to do, Hood, I've been there for a good hour."

 

* * *

 

"Wait, wait. You went to Town Hall and took a _chainsaw_ to her tree?!"

Emma's seeing everything in a blur by this point. The front of her shirt is wet and she's not sure how or why. She's doubled over in laughter, a mirage of blood red, smoky grey, and deep brown eyes full of absolute _fury_ (and maybe a flicker of something else) flashing across her mind like a picture show.

"She started it! I was just showin' her who she was up against. At least I never tried to put her under an eternal cat nap. Also, she has a _hell_ of a right hook. She ever punch you?"

Robin looks increasingly stunned at the entire conversation and Emma just smiles and smiles.

"I, uh, no. I can't say that she has. I've released an arrow a few too many times near her head though. Does that count?"

Emma smacks a hand to her forehead. "Duuuude. That's _lame_." Robin scrunches his face. Jake is in the back somewhere cleaning up. He'd said something about kicking them out in a few minutes. "Don't you, like, have _any_ juicy history? Any fights or screaming matches, a friggin' chipped cup, _anything_?"

Robin swirls his glass, his brow squished so closely together Emma has the sudden urge to poke it with her finger. His eyes light up a second later, a sloppy finger coming up in a 'aha!' gesture.

"We had sex in her vault while Marian was less than twenty feet away. In another room, of course - not, I mean we didn't - "

Emma waves her hands at him, cutting him off.

"Okay, first of all, _ew_. She has people's beating _hearts_ in that place. Her friggin’ mother's _tomb_ was literally right above you. Second. You broke rule number two of tonight."

Emma takes one last shot, barely grimacing as she slams the glass down on the counter with an incredibly loud air of finality.

"No talk about sexual encounters with Regina."

"I don't think I agreed to abide by that rule, actually. You just enforced it and then moved on to the next one without confirmation from - "

Emma glares. " _Whatever_." She grabs her jacket from the barstool next to her. " _We're_ not talking about this. And I need to go wash the booze out of my hair, I can feel it starting to harden." She claps him on the shoulder, an ode to when he'd first walked in, then salutes. "It's been real, Robin of Locksley. Let's never do it again."

"Hey, Jake! I'm gonna come back tomorrow and pay for all of this, okay?"

"Jack. And you better. I know where you live, Emma Swan.”

He comes around the edge of the bar with a crate of wine glasses in his arms and narrowed eyes. She really thought she had his name right. Damn.

"Yeah, everyone in town does." She rolls her eyes and stumbles out the door without a second glance to Robin.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up to pounding at her door and a set of jackhammers behind her eye sockets. Someone's yelling her name.

She rolls over and it's not until she's sprawled out on the floor, wincing and groaning and head fucking _aching_ , that she realizes she was on the couch. Also, she thinks she just fell on top of a trash bin. What the fuck?

The pounding isn't stopping and when her name is shouted once again she grinds the heels of her palms against her eyes and then slaps her hands against the hardwood floor before standing, getting super fucking dizzy, and making her way over to the door and ripping it open.

"Woman, jesus fuck, _what_?"

Oh god, she got up too fast. Opened the door too fast. Too fast, too fast, too -

There's a beat of silence.

"You look like hell.” Regina breezes past her in a whirl of black trench coat and whatever the hell kind of perfume that is she’s always got on. It smells like apples and caramel – which, yeah. Emma thinks Regina actually makes it herself. With one of her chemistry sets or whatever.

Emma runs a hand down her face and drags herself to the kitchen, just about _dying_ for some caffeine.

"Would you like a cookie for that outstanding observation?"

She doesn't have to turn around to know Regina's giving her one of those patented 'I don't find you at all amusing' glares.

"I thought _I_ was the one who was supposed to be moping?"

Emma snorts. It hurts. She flinches. That fucking hurts too. _Jesus_.

"Your soulmate and I seemed to think otherwise."

She’s just closing the top to the Keurig when she realizes she probably wasn’t supposed to say that.

“Yes, you two seemed to be exceptionally _open_ with each other last night.”

Emma spins around. The room continues to spin a bit longer than she’d expected and she grips at the counter before finding Regina’s eyes. “Wait, you – how did – _fuck_ , I’m too hungover for this. Did he come back over to your place or something?”

 _God_ , yesterday feels endless. It's bleeding into today and she just wants a _reprieve._ And a damned cup of coffee in peace.

Regina hasn’t taken her coat off yet and she’s got her gloved hands clasped together against her stomach. She looks about as stiff as the muscles in Emma’s neck feel.

Regina seems to wrestle with her words for a brief moment before she sighs and her shoulders sag, posture softening completely with the exhale. She slips off her gloves and comes to lean her elbows into the island.

“He was more than a little angry at me for not…being entirely truthful with him.” Regina pierces her with a glare. “That was _not_ your place to tell him about us, Miss Swan.”

Emma ignores the reproof. “Uh, yeah. No at all truthful, actually. You literally skipped like 98% of it.”

“Well, it’s really not your business to know what happens between Robin and I, is it?” Regina snaps, patience paper thin it seems this…Emma eyes the clock on the Keurig…four o’clock?! What the hell, she slept the _entire day_?

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty forthright with me about the two of you last night. You always have a lot of miscommunications in your relationship? I hear couple’s therapy is pretty beneficial. You know there’s nothing wrong with asking Archie for – ”

“Oh, _shut up_.” She pinches at the bridge of her nose, jaw flexing and the hand holding her gloves forming into a fist. Regina’s eyes find hers a second later and something in Emma’s gut retreats further into itself at the _fire_ raging within those dark, dark irises. She half expects to see the lick of flames.

“I’m not going to take relationship advice from a woman who continues to stay with a misogynistic _pig_ because it’s _easy_ for her to let someone treat her like some goddamn consolation prize.”

Emma slams the coffee mug she’d just grabbed from the cupboard down onto the counter. It shatters under her hand and she feels the sharp sting of one of the pieces slice into her palm. It barely registers in her mind. She whirls on Regina, bloodied hand trembling and pointing. Regina’s eyes are wide – maybe with concern, maybe with shock, maybe with both, who knows – and her mouth is parted too, but Emma’s _not_ backing down from this.

“Are you _really_ going to throw shit like that at me?” Emma gives a sharp laugh, a bitter sounding thing. “Alright, Regina. Batter up.” She takes a step closer so that the edge of the island bites into the bone of her hips. “You’re with Robin because some motherfucking _fairy_ told you you _had_ to be and you’re too afraid he’s the only goddamn thing that will love you in that way to leave him. Which is fucking _not true_ , by the way.”

Regina _fumes_. “How _dare_ you – ”

“How dare I _what_ , Regina? What are you going to do, _punish_ me? _Hurt_ me? _Use_ me? You’ve already done all of the above. So _what_ , what are you going to do to me, huh? Come on, Your Majesty. Show me that _fire_ for only telling you the goddamn _truth_.”

“You are an absolute child,” Regina seethes, righting herself and running a hand through her hair.

“Yeah, well you’re a fucking drama queen, so we’re even.”

“ _I’m_ the drama queen? You got plastered with my significant other and proceeded to air out our dirty laundry in front of him.”

“And you _lied_ to him and are now yelling at _me_ for being the one to tell him the fucking truth!”

“It _wasn’t. your. place_!”

“Jesus, Regina, it was an _accident_. I’d assumed you’d _told_ him! _Maybe_ you should have grown some _fucking balls_ and done it yourself!”

“ _You_ are – “

“ _Moms_!”

They both jolt, Emma’s eyes shooting toward the door, Regina whirling around, hand flying up to her chest. Emma hides her hand behind her back, wincing when her nails nick at the gash in her palm. She feels the stickiness of her blood trickle between her knuckles. _Shit_ , it hurts.

“What’s going on? Why are you two screaming at each other?”

“Henry, I told you to wait in the car,” Regina says, voice hardened around the edges but with an added, forced probably, softness as she speaks to him.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that was going to happen, Mom.”

Regina’s head jerks back a little at the tone and Emma can see Regina about to admonish him for it but really she should have known better. He’s _their_ kid.

“Kid, we weren’t screaming at each other.”

Another eye roll. “Um, yeah, okay, Ma. Both of you are terrible liars, _so_.” He crosses his arms across his chest and one eyebrow quirks up. He looks _exactly_ like his mother which is – yeah, it’s a little scary. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Regina turns to catch her gaze and Emma flexes her injured hand again, jaw clenching against the wave of pain. An unspoken conversation unfolds with that one passing look, Emma nodding and Regina sighing, a completely defeated sound, before crossing her own arms (a vulnerable gesture Emma’s come to notice) and leaning back against the island.

“Fine. Your mother and I were arguing. But it’s not something that you need to wo – ”

“Is this about you and Robin fighting last night?”

Emma sees Regina’s back stiffen at that. “You – you heard us?” Her voice wavers.

“Wait,” Emma interrupts, pain and her hangover muddling her mind to the point of distraction, “you two _fought_ last night?”

Regina doesn’t spare her a glance but her shoulders raise just that tiny bit more. “Henry, I’m – I didn’t know you could – ”

“You were pretty loud." He steps forward a bit, hurried in his next response, probably at the expression on Regina's face. "Mom, it’s fine, really. I mean, I was worried about you but I didn’t want you to know that I heard because you’d give me _that look_ you’re giving me now, so I just stayed in my room and pretended I was asleep.”

Emma feels a swell of pride at her ever precocious, kind boy.

“Henry,” Regina breathes but he just flickers his gaze between the both of them, eyes narrowing.

“So, what’s going on with you two, then? Ma, are you mad at her for breaking up with Robin or something?”

Emma sputters. _Broke up?_ Regina visibly bristles.

“Why,” she clears her throat when the word cracks, “why would I be mad at her for that, Henry?”

He shrugs, eyes on Regina’s face before looking over to her once more. Emma wishes Regina's back wasn't to her.

“I dunno. He was supposed to be her happy ending and we were supposed to be the ones to help her find it. If she isn’t with Robin, then that kind of ruins the whole purpose of Operation Mongoose, doesn’t it?”

He hangs his head a little when he says it and Emma forgets herself, forgets about the argument between her and Regina, forgets about her hand aching behind her back, her pounding migraine. She moves around the island just as Regina pushes forward as well, and they end up with Emma to his left and Regina to his right, each of them with a hand on his arm.

“Kid,” Emma sighs, as Regina brushes at his bangs. “You haven’t let your mom down because,” here she hesitates, eyeing Regina before swallowing quickly and pressing on, “her and Robin Hood aren’t together anymore, okay?”

Regina smiles up at him, something so soft and so full of love that it nearly knocks Emma breathless. “He and I made that decision together, Henry.” She cups a hand at the back of his neck, fingers caressing there. “Happiness can come in many forms and it isn’t always what we expect it to be. And no matter what, you are always the most precious thing in my life. You are, and always have been, more than enough to make me completely, one-hundred percent happy.”

Henry gives a crooked smile, hand coming up to wrap around her wrist, squeezing. “I know, Mom.” His other hand comes to rest atop Emma’s forearm, a mirroring squeeze there. “I don’t understand why you two are fighting, then. I thought you were friends.”

Regina and Emma share a look, a tacit agreement within it.

“Henry,” Regina starts. “We _are_ friends. And sometimes friends have disagreements, right?”

Henry nods, eyes catching Emma’s briefly. “So what was the disagreement about?”

Emma sighs, hand absolutely _throbbing_ behind her back. She shifts a little, rolling her shoulder and opening her hand – which apparently is a _ginormous_ mistake because it fucking _hurts_ and she hisses, unable to bite it back.

Henry’s brow knits and Regina’s head snaps to the side.

“Ma, what’s – ”

She sees Regina lean backward a bit and then hears a gasp, followed by a furious, “you _idiot_.”

“ _Mom_!”

Emma gives her a baleful glare as she’s basically manhandled and dragged to the sink, her wrist held hostage by Regina’s firm grip as she turns on the faucet and runs cold water over the, yeah, okay, _definite_ gash.

Her hand jerks and she grits her teeth, keeping another gasp of pain at bay for Henry’s sake. He’s peering over her shoulder, eyes wide.

“Ma, what did you _do_?”

Regina snorts. “Your mother has the temperament of a toddler being refused a toy.”

Emma rolls her eyes as Henry scrunches his face in confusion, shifting to get a little closer. Something grinds beneath his shoes and he looks down, lifting a foot. He looks up and sees the remnants of the coffee mug on the counter, putting the pieces together.

“You smashed a cup.” He deadpans, eyeing Emma with a familiar look of reproach.

Regina snickers. Emma glares, tries to snatch her hand away. Regina holds tighter.

“Hold _still_ , there’s a few pieces of…” There’s a sharp, fucking _sharp_ , sting a second later and Emma yelps, almost launching herself away from the sink.

“ _Fuck_ , Regina, _ow_.”

“Language around our son, Miss Swan.”

Henry sniggers, the sound exactly like the one Regina’d uttered a few seconds ago. God, he was _so_ her kid. “It’s not like I haven’t heard worse from you, Mom.”

Emma’s face starts to split in two from the intensity of her growing smile. “Really now?”

Regina’s cheeks are a delightful shade of pink and she slams down on the faucet, shutting it off.

“Both of you hush. Henry, do you know if there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom?”

Henry looks up at her, confused.

“Can’t you just heal her like you did me that one time I – ”

He cuts himself off, head ducking, and Emma’s nostrils flare, only Regina’s hand keeping her own from curling into a fist.

Regina clears her throat. “Yes, well, I’m not so sure Miss Swan – ”

And Emma swivels the anger at herself around on Regina.

“Oh, for the love of God, will you _stop_ calling me that? At this point in our relationship, it’s a little ridiculous.”

Regina gapes at her. Henry’s eyes are wide and dancing between the both of them.

Emma closes her eyes and takes in a shaky inhale.

“Right, I’ll uh, go look for that first aid kit.”

There’s just the drip of the sink faucet and Henry’s rummaging from down the hall.

“Regina – ”

There’s a soft glow and a warmth that starts from the palm of her hand and radiates up to her elbow, and when she looks down, her palm is healed completely. Regina lets go of her wrist gently, turning away before Emma can meet her eyes. She flexes her hand.

Henry comes back into the kitchen with a small plastic box in his hand. “Okay, I found it, what do you nee – oh.”

“Henry, would you like to have dinner here or at the house tonight?”

Henry blinks, looks between the both of them. Emma hasn’t taken her eyes off Regina. Regina won’t look at her at all.

“I, um.” He looks desperately at Emma for help and Emma just gives him a small smile, a nod. _Go_ , she mouths. Henry hesitates, a beat, then another, before nodding. “You’re making dessert, right?” He tries for a sheepish grin, always the balm to their fire. Emma’s heart tugs. She chuckles. Regina follows suit, eyes never leaving Henry’s.

“Of course, dear.”

Henry follows her out the door, a mouthed _I’ll call you later_ over his shoulder as he shuts it behind them.

Emma sags against the counter, head falling into her hands, an overwhelming sense of hollowness forming roots in the pit of her stomach. Feeling like her and Regina had gotten absolutely _nowhere_ with that argument.

Actually, she’s pretty sure it just knocked them back about ten steps.

 

* * *

 

She’s just sweeping up the rest of the broken mug when she hears the door open and the shuffling of boots on the hardwood floor.

“Emma!” Snow breathes, eyes positively sparkling.

“How are you feeling?” David smiles as he pushes a stroller full of a bundled up, sleeping Neal further into the loft, closing the door behind him.

She dumps the coffee mug debris into the trash and props the broom back up against the side of the fridge.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, actually.” She chuckles and David gives her a sympathetic head tilt.

“I sat a trash bin by the couch in case you – oh.”

Emma sees her eyeing the mess she’d made, the overturned trash bin, the pile of blankets she’d thrown off her. She scratches at the back of her neck. “Uh, yeah, sorry, Regina kind of jarred me awake.”

Snow gives her an overly causal glance before taking her coat off and reaching for David’s to hang up on the coatrack. “Oh?”

“Mom, I know you saw her and Henry. They literally left like two seconds ago.”

“Was this just a friendly visit, then? I thought it was Regina’s weekend.”

Emma sighs, already wanting to go back to sleep. Is 4:30 too early to call it a night?

“It is. She uh, Henry wanted to invite me to dinner.”

Snow gives a soft ‘mhm’ as she unwraps Neal from his cocoon and lays him down gently in his crib. She eyes Emma over the top of it.

“And he couldn’t have just called?”

Emma groans. “Okay, okay. You _know_. I get it. You two support it, are all gung-ho about it, hoorah, that’s fantastic. Really. Thank you. But I don’t want to talk about it right now, or like, _ever_ , so can we just _not_ , please?”

Snow narrows her eyes at her, seemingly weighing her options, Emma seeing a thousand different responses flashing by and being discarded in the green of her irises.

“Okay.”

Emma’s mouth drops. “ _Okay_?”

Snow smiles, nodding. “Granny’s for dinner?”

Emma gapes over at David who just shrugs and moves to grab their coats again.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Yeah, I’d love that.”

Snow smiles again, softly, a well-placed respect of Emma’s boundaries making Emma’s heart kind of leap up into her throat and stick there. Even if she knows her mother isn't going to be so acquiescent next time this particular subject is brought up. It still makes her feel _heard_.

Her hand finds the small of Emma’s back as David helps her into her coat and then goes to get Neal and put him back in his blanket cocoon in the stroller.

She may not be having dinner with her son and Regina. She and Regina may be farther apart than she ever could have imagined they’d be this many years into a…companionship with eachother. And that may chip away at something deep inside of her.

But she _is_ having dinner with her parents and her baby brother. And for right now?

It feels _okay_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes head from around corner* Alright. First things first. 
> 
> My GOD, am I sorry. 
> 
> This took far too long and I fear it may not be the quality it was in November. I do think I've digressed a bit with my writing. My own fault of course for neglecting it and refusing to touch a keyboard for so many months. 
> 
> But anyway, there's going to be at least three more chapters of this length so don't...get too distressed over the content in this one. 
> 
> This WILL have a happy ending. Yes? Yes. 
> 
> Lastly, I am so goddamn thankful for you stupidly loyal people and at this point in time, this is all for you. 
> 
> You all are beautiful. THANK you.

“You both are being really stupid.”

Her grip slips on the bar and the soles of her feet flash with a sharp pain, ephemeral but enough to make her wince, as they meet the floor too quickly and too harshly, her back pressing into the frame of the closet door to keep her balance. A gloved hand comes up to her chest.

“Kid, _jesus_. Never interrupt a woman in the zone.”

Henry just continues to stare at her, deadpan, and Emma wonders exactly _how_ many Regina-adjacent expressions he can duplicate.

“When’s the last time you saw Mom?”

Emma blinks, sweat starting to pool uncomfortably in her sports bra. “Um, literally yesterday.”

Henry lets out a breath, clipped and annoyed. “Okay, rephrase. When was the last time you two had a conversation without anyone else in the room?”

 _Almost two weeks_ , her brain spits out immediately.

She wants to pour acid over it.

She makes a show of scratching at her nose in thought before she lets out a huff, the velcro of her gloves piercing the quiet air as she tosses them to the carpet beside her. She wipes at her forehead. “Henry, come on. We’re trying to be civil. And when it comes to _us_ , the less we see of each other, the better.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what happened between the two of you so I can at least come up with a better answer every time Leroy corners me at Granny’s?”

“You don’t – ” Emma’s eyes widen, mouth parting. “Wait…who all thinks there’s something going on between me and your mom?”

Henry rolls his eyes like she’s the densest person on the planet. Emma’s a lot offended. “More like who _doesn’t_ think there’s something going on between you two. Ma, you’re The Savior and she was The Evil Queen. You’ve punched each other in the _faces_ , you use to hate ea- ”

“We never _hated_ –”

Henry waves a hand. “What _ever_. You’re, like, the town’s juiciest gossip right now. Mostly, I think everyone just wants to know if they should bring popcorn or protective gear the next time you’re around one another.”

Emma blinks, her jaw hanging open. “Are you – we don’t! – ” she shakes her head, hands coming up. “Nope. Never mind.” She sighs and pinches at the bridge of her nose, eyes screwing shut. “Your mother and I are fine, kid.” She opens her eyes at the incredulous snort. “We _are_. Like Regina said the other day, friends fight. We’ll get over it.” _Eventually_ … her mind murmurs.

“Okay, Ma. If it’s just a _friendly_ fight, why can’t you tell me what it was about?”

Emma’s head jerks back. _Is he…is he smirking?!_

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, trying to adopt a foreboding posture. Henry’s lips press together, as if he’s trying not to laugh. Emma scowls. She curses Regina for being The Scary Parent out of the two of them.

“Alright, out with it. You need to work on the smugness, by the way, it makes you look like a brat,” she gripes because she’s a mature adult.

Henry just huffs out an imperious snort before moving to her chin-up bar and gripping at it with both hands. He’s getting taller every day and his feet are flat to the ground, the boniness of his knuckles contrasting with the slight rippling of flesh over tendon in his forearm. Emma feels a swift tug at her belly, her heart stuttering in her chest. She wishes he’d stop _growing_.

“I still haven’t figured out which one of you spilled first,” he says, a touch of wistfulness in his words, ever the writer, ever the insatiable curiosity. He tilts his head to the side.

Emma’s face twists, palms growing damp with the direction of the conversation. “Spilled?”

Here, Henry lets go of the bar and turns to her fully, nodding his head. “Yep.” He ‘pops’ the p. “I feel like Mom’s a better bet but if you trust the person enough…and given the right amount of push…”

He trails off there, brow furrowed in concentration, now not really looking at her, and Emma throws up her hands, palms facing him.

“Hold up. Wait. Just – what exactly are you talking about here?”

Henry looks her dead in the eye and Emma feels an icy frisson of panic shoot down her back.

“You and Mom are in love with each other.”

Emma’s breath leaves her in a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering closed with it. _Fuck_.

“Kid…”

Henry barrels through her next words, halting them in her throat, like gauze dipped in wax. She tries multiple times to swallow it down. “Come on, Ma, it’s actually _perfect_. The Evil Queen and the one person who was meant to destroy her falling in love with each other? Saving one another? Sharing a _kid_?” His eyes are wide with a kind of hope that strikes Emma right down to her very core. It unsettles her resolve, shakes her up, an etch-a-sketch erased back to its blank screen. She forgets why she and Regina haven’t talked properly in two weeks, she forgets why she’s supposed to be angry with her, why she’s supposed to not be _in love_ with her.

“I can't believe I didn’t see it sooner,” he continues, a little breathless. “Your story has been writing itself for years, unfolding right in front of all of us and no one even _realized_.”

“Henry, please…” she’s alarmed to find that her words come out choked, that lump strangling them. Henry notices and stops abruptly, brow creasing, looking so very young.

“Ma…what’s…?”

Emma takes in a deep, steadying breath, deciding that _this_ kind of hope (one for a family she’s been aching for for _far_ too long) inside her kid would hurt him more than it could ever hurt her or Regina.

“Henry, listen. I…I know you think that your mom and I…that we’re…in love,” _jesus_ , it wasn’t getting any easier to say, “and I’m…I wish I could let you believe that, I wish…I wish I could encourage you to believe in this story…our story. But I can’t. Because it isn’t true. Your mother and I…”

What _were_ they? How could she ever accurately describe what she feels for Regina? Their relationship?

Her mind shifts, eyes focusing back on his, a new thought forming. A new way to get him to understand...or at least acquiesce.

“We’re family, right?” Henry nods, lips pinched in a hard line, stubborn. Eyes hard, unrelenting, swimming with disappointment. Confusion, anger. But he still nods. “Right. And you know I love you? That your mother loves you?” Another nod. “Can that be enough for you?”

It’s a gruelingly long minute before he answers, his brow still crumpled together before it suddenly smooths out, expression fusing into one she distinctly recognizes as the one he adopts when he’s plotting operations.

 _Great_.

She braces herself.

“An honest answer for an honest answer,” he posits.

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips before conceding. “Alright.”

He lets a few beats pass before he speaks.

“Does Hook make you happy?”

She blinks rapidly, caught off guard by the question. And it’s rather startling the first response her mind whispers. So startling that she presses it down, down, down.

Henry can’t be hurt by this, by _them_. _Never_ by them. Not again. She can't let him believe in a lie. Not again. And she swore she would never do this. Not again. Never to him. But she can't _let him be hurt like this._

This is something she can’t let touch him, something she can’t allow to root, flourish.

It is a lie. So with a lie she shall hide it.

“Yes. He makes me very happy, Henry.”

And of course her boy, her kind, precocious boy, sees it.

His eyes cloud over, turn steely again, determined. He lifts his chin, his mother shining so fiercely in the expression. Emma’s gut flips, wishing she could take it back in a second, an internal back and forth warring inside her mind, chaotic and loud.

“Yes,” he lies right back, a sneer, “it’s enough.” And then he walks out of her room, the click of his bedroom door sounding in the hall a few seconds later.

Emma lets out a whoosh of air, her head dipping and hand coming to cover her eyes.

_A+ parenting, Emma._

 

* * *

 

Dinner is an uncomfortable affair.

It’s her last night with him and she had hoped they’d spend it playing video games together and eating the entire store’s supply of junk food just to piss Regina off like they always did but Henry thanks her for dinner and goes up to his room the second he’s rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher (a habit he’s learned from Regina, one Emma’s started to adopt as well).

She slouches in her chair, shoving despondently at her plate of half-eaten chicken, the edges singed black. She thinks Henry never comments on her undoubtedly terrible cooking skills because he doesn’t want to make her feel bad. (She also thinks Regina might have something to do with it as well but she can’t be sure.)

She always wants to ruffle his hair and then kiss the top of his head for it but she suspects it would be much less appreciated than a crooked smile and a “thanks, kid.”

She’s putting on an old sweatshirt when her phone buzzes on her nightstand.

It’s 11:13.

Regina’s calling her.

Her hands still, midway to untucking her hair from the back of her sweatshirt. She blinks, the phone moving slightly as it continues to vibrate, Regina’s name, a picture of her and Henry, lit up on the screen.

Her stomach coils, drops like she’s missed a few steps on the stairs.

_Shit, shit, shit._

It’s in her right hand, her thumb sliding to unlock the screen, before she can process what she’s doing.

She doesn’t say hello - she almost does because that’s what normal people say in greeting during a phone call - but her mouth only gets as far as opening, her breath hitching as the line connects.

There’s one, two, almost a third beat before, “…Emma?”

And _fuck_ , does her body react to _that_.

Her breath, without her fucking permission, comes out loud and wobbly, a trembling rush. “Hey,” she croaks, realizing in this moment just how _much_ she’s missed these phone calls with Regina, missed the softness in her voice.

“I…I didn’t wake you, did I?” She sounds cautious…almost nervous, and Emma’s stomach furls into a knot.

“No.” she says back just as quietly. “No, I was just putting on a sweatshirt,” she cringes at the inane comment, “and uh, Henry’s been asleep for about half an hour.”

“Ah. That’s...good. He ate all of his dinner?”

“Yeah,” Emma breathes, then chuckles, tentatively feeling out a joke, “I think he might need a dentist appointment with how overcooked my chicken was, though.”

Regina laughs, low and hoarse. It warms something inside of Emma’s chest, unravels the knot in her stomach a bit.

The awkward tension, almost palpable through the line, slackens just enough for the familiarity of this, of their phone calls, to seep in like muscle memory.

“There’s a timer on stoves for a reason, Emma.”

“I’ve never been good with kitchen appliances,” she says, heartbeat thunderous beneath her ribs, fingers pinching and pulling at the pocket of her sweatshirt, the image of an unfortunate toaster and a screwdriver washing across her mind.

There’s a pause and then, “I set the kitchen on fire the first year the curse was enacted.”

Emma’s eyes bug out, mouth opening, fidgeting hand coming up to cover her guffaw. “Oh m…oh my _god_ , did you really?”

Regina’s chuckling, her words almost nostalgic as she continues, “The stove was very confusing…and ominous. I didn’t know I had turned it on…so when I started to smell smoke a little while later…”

Emma’s lost it by this point. Her face is buried in the crook of her free elbow and Regina’s laugh grows with her own.

“It’s not funny, Miss Swan! I ruined such beautiful countertops.” She clicks her tongue here, exaggerated grief in her words.

“I can’t believe you set your house on fire. Now I don’t feel bad about my mom’s poor toaster anymore.”

“It wasn’t my _house_ , Emma. Just the kitchen.” Emma pictures the eye roll. She smiles.

“Hey, at least I limit my burning to the food.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Emma beams, shifting back against her pillows in her bed, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankles. She moves the phone to her opposite ear. “Yup, sure do.”

Regina hums and this time Emma pictures her shaking her head, a crooked smile painted across bare lips.

“I’ve missed this.”

It’s whispered. Emma’s skin races with heat, all of it shooting to her middle. And she remembers. Remembers why the two weeks, why the anger, why this still feels so stilted, so fragile.

There’s another pause before Regina speaks again, her words so hushed and so _soft_ that Emma freezes, a feeling of crescendo gathering in her belly.

“I know what’s happened between us is still very fresh…that you are probably still very angry with me and that’s okay, I would be alarmed if you weren’t, quite frankly. And I know I have no right to ask this of you, to ask for your attention, but I have something I’d like – I _need_ to say to you.”

A few seconds pass. The wind outside picks up a bit. There’s the distant rolling of thunder. She’d forgotten it was supposed to storm tonight.

She realizes that Regina’s waiting for her to say something, to grant her permission.

Emma nods, dumbly, before her brain catches up to the fact that Regina can’t see her and clears her throat, a raspy “alright” as her response.

She hears Regina suck in sharp breath, a moment passing before she speaks.

“I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Emma. Some…some that are irreversible. Some that I will never be able to make up for. No matter how much I wish I could, and I…” her words cut off here, a stuttering exhale, “ _god_ , I do wish I could. But I can't.” Her voice cracks on the word. “I can’t go back and change them. I can only try to not let the guilt, the remorse, eat away at me. And I'm...I’m still learning that part. Henry...Henry helps. He makes me feel like the person I want to be, the _mother_ I want to be to him. Mi principito,” she whispers reverently.

Emma recognizes the Spanish; it's the second time Regina's spoken the language during a conversation with her.

She’d always filed away Regina’s complexion, her ethnicity. It's always been something she's seen...just never prominently noticed. But it's only now that she's finding how deeply attractive the language is on her. How much she really _has_ always noticed. And she desperately wants to know what it means, why she hardly speaks it, but she can't bring herself to interrupt.

There's another intake of breath, a rustle over the phone that Emma's ears strain to place. “You were wrong the other day. When you told me that the only reason I was staying with Robin was because I didn't think anyone else could love me in that way.”

Emma’s brow furrows, her fingers mindlessly playing with the end of her sleeve as she waits for the explanation.

"I lost Daniel when I was 18,” Regina continues, voice a mere rasp. “My mother ripped out his heart and crushed it in front of me."

Emma’s face contorts with pain. Empathy. She'd never truly known exactly what had happened to Regina’s first love. Even Snow wouldn’t tell her. She still ducks her head and speaks too softly when the subject, so rarely, comes up. (Mostly at Emma's infrequent questioning). And she'd never once tried to broach the subject during their phone calls. Those were sacred to her, something that had been her escape when things were too messy, too ugly - she didn't want to taint them with answers to questions that would be even harder to hear.

She feels the sudden, desperate urge to hug Regina. In another second, realizes they've known each other for five years and never once have. Emma aches and aches.

Regina continues.

"I was forced to marry to a man who was in love with a ghost and tried to soothe the loss by obsessively doting over a ten year old, spoiled _brat_." She growls here and Emma jerks, realizing and stung that Regina is talking about her mother. Her grandfather.

"I've had my son ripped away from me so many times I lay awake at night in cold sweats, rendered motionless wondering if it's going to happen again tomorrow. Every time he tells me he loves me, a small part of me is always struck with surprise. Every time he comes home from school, from your house - when I see him come through that door...it's when I realize that I've been silently panicking the entire time he's been away; my shoulders relax. Relief. A kind of relief every mother must feel but I don't - "

Her words break off here, tears choking them, making them sound so small, so helpless, and Emma suddenly understands what she's doing.

She wants her to stop. Wants her to stop flaying herself open.

“Every single moment in my life has been constructed or poisoned in some way or another by my mother,” Regina continues, Emma feeling like she’s jumped to this topic to keep from outright crying. (Henry always so effectively eliciting raw emotion from her. It makes something inside of Emma twinge. Maybe a little like endearment. Maybe a little like envy.)

There's a low bitterness trickling its way back into her words now, old wounds being prodded. “But just this once I thought maybe, _maybe_ , because not even the memory of her could touch him, touch us. I was with someone that I was fated to be with, so it had to be true love, right? It had to be forever. I could finally be happy with someone that wanted me. _Loved_ me the way I've always wanted to be loved. The way I felt loved when I was eighteen and just wanted to be _free_.”

“And then you had to go and have the nerve to tell me you were in love with me. Something I’d been longing to hear from you for _years_ , Emma. Something I thought just a ridiculous daydream. Something I thought would _go away_.”

Emma jolts up off the bed at that, heart thumping in overtime with the surprise of the words.

Wait, _what_!?

She's so caught off guard that she misses Regina's next few words, reeling in her reaction and focusing back on Regina's voice so she doesn't miss any more.

“...that you knew the darkest parts of me and loved me in spite of them, made me feel like you loved me even _because_ of them.”

Emma sucks in a sharp breath, the hand holding her phone starting to tremble.

“Regina…” she exhales, now not wanting but needing her to stop. Because she can't hear this right now. She can’t forgive her yet. She can't _believe_ her yet.

But Regina doesn't stop and Emma feels her throat close up, the syllables of her name dying on her tongue in an instant.

 _Please_ , her mind pleads, _don't_.

“I stayed with Robin because it was _easy_ , Emma. As I imagine it's easy to stay with Hook.” Emma tenses at the mention of him, of something she's yet to admit to herself, allow herself to even _think_ about, but Regina’s words grow unbearably soft. “You and I have both gone our whole lives not knowing the intimacies that come with that word. Life hasn't been easy and certainly neither has _love_. But to know with absolute certainty that a person loves you with their entire self? That a person loves you more than you could ever love them in return? Oh, that's addicting, Emma.”

“And then they do something, something insignificant that makes your heart flutter, your stomach turn over, and you think ‘ _oh_ , maybe I really _do_ love them.’ You think you can love them endlessly, you think you can give them all of you. You think you can one day end up truly _wanting_ to.”

Emma closes her eyes, waiting. Waiting for what she knows is coming next. Her teeth clamp down on the inside of her mouth.

“And I did, Emma, I did want that with him.” There's a pregnant pause and Emma’s breath stills.

“I just…I wanted it with you more. I've _always_ wanted it with you.”

No. _No_.

“The mistakes I wish I could take back the most, the one I hope I can still fix, Emma, is the one I made two weeks ago when I lied to you and told you I would never be in love with you.”

Tears prick almost painfully at her eyes and she feels the warm wetness roll down her cheeks a second later.

No, she is not - Emma shakes her head, a jagged burst of white hot fire shooting down her neck, her spine, dispersing about her entire body.

“ _No_ ,” she says, lowly, her teeth clenched together.

She can picture with absolute clarity the confused blink of caramel eyes, the little jerk of her head.

“...no?”

“No,” she repeats, fist flexing and relaxing in her lap. “You don't get to do this. Not now. Not after I've already decided that I can be okay with this. Not after you were so _fucking convincing_ ,” she says, voice shaking with her ire.

“ _Emma_ …” Regina chokes out and it only makes it worse. Her eyes screw shut, cursing Regina for her goddamn _terrible_ timing. For the way she makes Emma feel.

“You can't just - _god_ , Regina. I'm - you know our kid thinks we’re in love?”

There's another choked sound, this one wordless.

“He - ?”

Emma cuts her off. “He thinks we’re in a goddamn Parent Trap movie, Regina. Because apparently the whole town thinks we’re a ticking fucking time bomb and Leroy can never keep his damn mouth _closed_ and Killian has probably _heard_ the rumors going around and hasn't even asked a single _fucking. question!_ ”

She explodes on the last sentence, shout echoing off the walls of her room and she jumps when a loud _crack!_ of thunder rattles the windows behind her sheer curtains.

She isn't making sense and she knows it, doesn't care.

She's just so _angry_ at _everyone_ and she wants to pour all of it into Regina. Wants her to fucking _feel_ what she is, _has_.

“Emma, I'm -”

If Emma was of the mind, she'd have heard the tears in the words, she'd have felt bad. She'd have apologized.

But Regina broke her heart in one fell swoop not two weeks ago and she wasn't _over it._

“You should have stuck with silence,” Emma says, her parting shot.

And then hangs up.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up she does something she hadn't since her and Henry’s time in New York (still so very real to her, the memories still so vivid).

She makes them both breakfast.

And when he clomps down the stairs, he pauses, eyes taking in the spread on the island.

Emma smiles, and okay maybe she's groveling a _little_ bit but she had also _really_ been craving pancakes.

Emma brings her arms up and out, showcasing her creation.

Henry just blinks, eyes roving over the plates of pancakes and bacon, the jug of orange juice and the bottle of maple syrup.

“I don't have time to eat,” he says, voice gruff.

Emma's brow knits together, arms going back to her sides. She tries to keep the hurt out of her own voice when she says, “It’s a Sunday.”

“Yeah, and I have somewhere to be.”

So he's still that angry with her. She guesses she should have been expecting that. But that doesn't mean he can't sit down and have breakfast with her. Especially when it's her last morning with him for a week.

“Kid, come on. Just one pancake, a piece of bacon, and you can go. It'll take you five minutes to-”

“No, Mom! I'm not hungry!”

His voice booms about the kitchen, the small dining room, syllables cracking a bit.

Emma jerks, stunned with the raw anger behind the words.

“What is _wrong_ with you, Henry?”

He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, a hand coming up to scrub at his face.

“Look, I don’t want your apology in the form of breakfast food, okay? I don't want one at all.”

Emma presses her palms into the island and leans on her hands, dipping her head. She lets out a breath.

“Henry, can you give me a break today, please?”

“Why? You don't give Mom any.”

“I'm only trying to do what's - _what_?”

Henry scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. I'll walk myself home, don't worry about dropping me off.”

He turns and leaves, ripping open the front door and pausing before shouldering the person standing just outside it.

Emma's too stunned to drag his moody, teenager ass back into the kitchen.

“Hey, woah - Henry?”

Killian points over his shoulder with his thumb, stepping into the foyer and closing the door behind him gently with his booted foot. “Uh...something wrong with the young lad?”

Emma grabs the orange juice and puts it back in the fridge, slamming the door shut. The entire thing teeters. It helps a little.

“You ever think about becoming a detective with that razor sharp sense of perception you have there?”

That does, too.

Killian stops just a few feet in front of her, hand and hook coming up in surrender, eyes wide and concerned.

She feels the distinct and sudden urge to slap him.

“Woah there, Swan. I'm all for being your punching bag but at least let a man know why he's being accosted before you have a go at him.”

Emma pops the cap off the maple syrup and tips it over the entire plate of pancakes.

She counts five long seconds and then turns and slides open the silverware drawer, the spoons and forks and knives clattering together with the force. She snatches a fork, leaves the drawer open, moves back to the island.

She cuts out a bite, swirls it in the river of maple syrup, and brings the whole thing up to her mouth.

She's going to eat these pancakes and she's going to enjoy them. Every last fucking _bite_.

“Right, um…”

She finishes chewing, cheeks bulging with the amount of food, and swallows, cutting out another bite. She dips down, resting her elbows on the counter and bending a knee.

“Have you ever seen the movie Parent Trap, Killian?”

“I've...you've only just recently taught me what a Netflix is…”

Emma licks some syrup dripping down the handle of her fork.

“It's about this guy and his ex-wife who have twin girls. One girl lives with one parent, the other lives with the other parent. And one day the girls meet at a summer camp and find out they're sisters.” Emma cuts another section of the pancakes. “They plot to get their parents back together.”

She twirls the fork in her hand, maple syrup running down the handle again, onto her thumb, the back of her hand.

She finds Killian’s confused gaze. “Do you know how the movie ends?”

He shakes his head slowly.

Emma lets the fork drop onto her plate, the bite of food falling to the island, splattering.

“They get back together.”

She picks up the plate, turns, and throws it into the sink.

It cracks into three jagged pieces, the scraping sound too harsh and piercing. She doesn't flinch.

She whirls around, eyes blazing.

“They fucking live _happily ever after_.”

He comes around the island, hand and hook still raised, steps quiet and eyes _soft_. They're too blue.

He's smart enough this time not to reach out for her.

“Emma, love, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on.”

Emma’s boiling anger turns into _apoplectic_ , heat scorching at her neck and blooming color into her cheeks. She feels the crackle of magic just beneath her skin, feels it simmering and coiled to strike.

“I don't need your _help_ ,” she breathes, scathing.

“I _need_ ,” she says, eyes moving past him to her keys on the counter, “to find my kid. And then maybe his mother, too.”

She steps around him, grabbing her keys, and striding out the door, the rattle of the walls echoing behind her as she grinds her back teeth.

Like _hell_ she was going to be The Nice Parent today.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *steps into room, waves sheepishly before clearing throat*
> 
> So. A few things that I feel need to be said before you all read. 
> 
> I’ve had this chapter finished for about a week now but I’ve been so terrified to post it because it’s been over a year since I’ve updated and who I was a year ago when I updated and who I am now are two very different people and I think it is very visible in my writing. In this chapter. Translation: depression has murdered my passion and talent and it was akin to shoving toothpicks under my fingernails to write this chapter. To writing anything this past year. My writing style has changed and I apologize if it may feel like the emotion in this chapter, the detail, has been kind of wrung dry. It’s frustratingly difficult to depict an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. 
> 
> For everyone who has messaged me inquiring if I am going to finish this (god, I’m still so shocked you all like this story enough to stick around this long? Fuck, I love you all). The answer is yes. But you may not like it. To clarify, I mean because I haven’t been active in the swan queen fandom for nearly half a year. Maybe more. I feel detached from the characters, their mannerisms, dialogue, it all seems very far away for me. Hard to grasp. And that has greatly affected my writing. So. Fair warning. I’m sorry if this chapter and the ones to follow disappoint. 
> 
> There will be a happy ending for our ladies. And I do still love our ladies (always and forever). I know it seems to be dragging on and on what with my disgustingly late updates. But we’re over the hump here. Just one or two chapters after this. And I do have half of the next chapter already written. I know this cliff hanger would be awful left for another year so I won’t put you all lovely, truly lovely, and loyal readers through that again. 
> 
> 98% of the reason I haven’t abandoned this like I’d really, really love to is because of you all. The other 2% is me trying to prove I can actually finish this damn story. 
> 
> With much love and overwhelming anxiety, your unreliable author who is very sorry it’s been over a year since she last updated. (I’d have some stiff inner monologues for someone if they did this to me, let me tell ya.)

She tries Henry’s cell a few times on her way to Regina’s, leaves a fuming voicemail with a very well-placed ‘young man’ near the end. Score one for The Not Scary Parent.

  
She feels a little sick from the pancakes.

  
Regina’s opening the front door before she even makes it up the steps.

  
“Care to tell me why our son just burst into the foyer telling me ‘true love is fucking bullshit and you and Ma can write your own story’?”

  
Emma pauses, feet scuffing against the porch before she blinks up at her. “Gee. I don't know, Regina.”

  
Regina’s jaw sets. “I’ve never heard him use that word before.” It’s a flinty accusation and Emma rolls her eyes.

  
“Yeah, you caught me. I actually give him twenty bucks every time he cusses. Twenty-five if it’s any form of the f word.”

  
She knows she’s skirting a fine line. She doesn’t care. It feels good.

  
Regina takes a slow inhale.

  
“You don’t get a pass here, Emma.” It’s gritted out, nostrils flaring. “No matter what has transpired between us lately. So I would tread _very_ carefully with that bitterness you seem to have in surplus.”

  
Regina’s eyes are a glittering dark brown, her voice low and full of steel, and Emma just continues to glare before she brushes past her and up the stairs.

  
She resists the urge to barge into his room, remembering how much she cherished her own privacy and not willing to invade Henry’s - even when he was being a bonafide _shit_ \- and raises a fist, knocking.

  
It's more a banging because, well, she's respectful but pissed.

  
“I'm screening messages today, come back later,” is the muffled response.

  
Emma’s mouth drops, fist poised in the air. She hears a snort behind her and ignores it.

“You have about ten seconds to open this door or I’m blasting it off the hinges.”

  
“Like hell you are.”

  
“Mom would kill you if you did that, try again.”

  
Emma balks, turning to gape at Regina who is radiating nothing but irritation and smugness.

  
_Jesus_ , their kid was a snarky little asshole and she’s surprised by it. He wasn't even in prime teenage years yet. God.

  
Emma raises her eyebrows along with her arms. Regina rolls her eyes before sighing, coming up beside Emma.

  
“All right Henry, that's enough. Listen to your mother. Open the door.”

  
“I'm not talking to either of you.”

  
Regina’s head jerks and Emma almost, _almost_ gives her a nasty grin. But she isn't that reckless so she bites it back.

  
“Henry Daniel Mills, open this door right now.”

  
“Why? So both of you can sell how _friendly_ you are to me?”

  
That does it. Regina gives a jaunty wave and the door flies open, the knob banging against the wall. Emma and Henry wince in unison.

  
They share an _oh, shit_ look before Henry clears his throat and sits up straighter on his bed, flexing his jaw, his brow pulling together as he adopts a scowl.

  
“Sit down.”

  
The scowl twists into confusion. “I...am?”

  
“ _Emma_ ,” Regina gets out between clenched teeth. “Sit down.”

  
Emma swallows, earlier anger now nothing more but mere wisps dissipating around her as she walks, on automatic (because there are some Regina Tones you _don't_ challenge), to the bed and sits down next to Henry.

  
“Now,” she starts, crossing her arms and cocking a hip, eyebrow poised high on her forehead, “what happened between the two of you? Henry, you still had the whole day to spend with Emma, why did you leave?”

  
“I would have come here anyway after Hook showed up,” Henry mutters, petulant, picking at the seam of his jeans.

  
Emma blinks, mouth parting. “You…” she shakes her head. “You like Killian.” Right? He's told her as much...recently. Hadn't he? Henry has to like Killian. He has to like her -

  
“No, Ma. _You_ like him. Just about the only person in town who does, actually.” The last bit is mumbled but she hears it. And so does Regina.

  
“Henry.” Regina cuts in sharply, sounding uncertain. Emma feels her gaze on her.

  
She stands up, still shaking her head. “So you...neither of you - so you've, what? Been _pretending_ this entire time?”

  
“I didn’t have a problem with him until I found out he helped Owen and Tamara torture Mom.” His voice is cold, eyes piercing.

  
Emma's mouth parts, mid-stride as she instantly freezes. Her heart drops, stutters in rhythm. _What?_

  
Regina’s head jerks to the side, eyes widening. “ _Henry_.”

  
“What, Mom? You were never going to say anything because you knew it would make things difficult for Ma.”

  
Emma’s close to wheezing. She’s dizzy, her head starting to fill with white noise. “You…”

  
Regina steps forward, hands outstretched to her. “Emma, it was a long time ago.” Regina, placating. Not forgiveness but a willingness to overlook. Overlook _torture_.

  
She feels suddenly, overwhelmingly nauseated. She needs to leave.

  
_Regina. How could he? Why did you never tell me? I wouldn't have - I'd_ never _have -_

  
“I need to go.”

  
And she does.

  
She feels the brush of fingertips in the crook of her elbow, not forceful, just...there. Before they're gone.

  
And she's out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Henry.” She's pinching at the bridge of her nose like she always does when she’s extra stressed. Henry switches it up, picks at the edge of his comforter. “Please tell me what happened.”

  
It’s the brush of her thumb over the denim covering his shin that makes him cave, the plead in her eyes, the reassurance there that he wasn’t going to be scolded.

  
He sighs, shoulders sagging. “I heard you two last night.” His eyes tip up; he wants to see her reaction. “On the phone.”

  
Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open. Her thumb stills. “You..”

  
“Well,” he rushes to say, “I heard Ma’s end. The yelling.”

  
Her eyes flutter closed, hand moving to run fingers through her hair.

  
“Henry…” she breathes as she moves to stand up, to pace like Ma had a moment ago. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.” But it sounds more like an afterthought, it’s weak in its reproach.

  
Henry’s brow furrows, lips twisting. “Why can’t you two just be together, why do you have to make it so _difficult_?” He’s a little horrified to feel the pricking of heat behind his eyelids.

  
His mom’s face contorts, brow pulling together as she strides back to the bed and sits so her side is firmly against his own. He swallows roughly, his throat tight, trying not to cry.

  
“Sweetheart.” She brushes the hair from his forehead; it feels like forever since she’s done that. He flexes his jaw, eyes in his lap. “Henry, look at me.” A finger touches just under his chin, gently pressing.

  
He looks at her. Her eyelashes are wet.

  
“I think you’re old enough for me to be blunt in my honesty, yes?”

  
Henry nods, vision blurring, a small part of him swelling with a distracted happiness at the way his mom’s eyes glisten with a shared understanding. A shared promise. _Honesty_.

  
“Your mother and I…” she fumbles a bit, pursing her lips. “We’ve always been…” she falters again, trails off before shaking her head, dipping it, and exhaling a breath. It sounds like a sandpaper chuckle. “The truth? The truth, Henry, is that I have no idea what’s happening between Emma and I.” Pain pulls at her expression. “I have no idea how to fix it. If it even can be fixed.”

  
“Mom…” he rasps, leaning forward to grab for her hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I - I shouldn’t have talked to you that way...when I - when I walked in earlier. I was just really angry.”

  
“Angry at Emma.”

  
“She shouldn’t have yelled at you like that!” Henry blurts, anger flushing his cheeks and springing him forward a little, away from the wall.

  
“Yes,” she says very softly, gaze searching his face, mapping out the frustration. Sometimes when they were both upset like this, especially when _he_ was upset like this, she would look at him like she was trying to memorize every line, every pore of his face. Like maybe she thought one day all she would have was the memory. It always made his chest throb, made guilt swell up inside of him as he too could trace every stitch of emotion on his mother’s face. “She should have,” she finishes, tilting her head, eyes warm but heavy with hurt.

  
His mom is in pain. She’s hurting and he doesn’t want to be mad at Emma but he is.

  
If he's honest with himself, he's mad at both of them. He's mad at everyone for not seeing. He's mad at _himself_ for not seeing.

  
He suddenly feels very small in this moment, like he was ten years old again and everyone looked at him like he was too young to understand the complicated inner workings of adulthood, of all that came with it. Too young to understand love.

  
“She hurt you,” he says, trying to make the words firm in his anger. Because he is angry.

  
He’s crying, too. He doesn't understand why it's so hard for them to just be _happy_.

  
His mom’s thumb catches a tear. She cups his face.

  
“I know you know it isn’t that simple, Henry.” She says as if reading his thoughts. “Emma hurt me, yes. But what I -” her words catch in her throat and Henry tips his eyes up to catch her swallow. “People hurt one another. People you love hurt you and you hurt them back.”

  
Henry gnashes his back teeth together, wanting to argue. Wanting to yell and yell until his throat was raw and he couldn't anymore.

  
“I can’t tell you which emotions you are allowed to feel, darling. Every one of them is valid. And I don’t know what happened between you and Emma before you got here but you do need to apologize to her for what you said while she was here. About Hook.”

  
“But Mom, he -” Why the _hell_ should he apologize for that?

  
“Is different now. She loves him.”

  
Henry bites down on his tongue, cheek twitching.

  
“She loves _you_ ,” he says fiercely.

  
His mom just smiles, eyes glistening and so, so sad. “I know,” she whispers.

  
Her knuckles run down his cheek before she stands and walks out of his room.

* * *

 

She’s sitting cross-legged on one of the benches facing the ocean, dry-faced and numb, when he finds her.

  
She still hasn’t buttoned her coat and she knows the only reason she hasn’t been berated by Regina yet today is because of their current situation. It makes her heart twinge with an ache that’s becoming far too familiar. No less easy to think away.

  
“Ma?”

  
It’s the hesitant question of a boy no older than ten. One scared, remorseful. In one syllable, she knows how sorry her son is. In one syllable, in that one second, she forgives him entirely. As she always will.

  
“Hey, kid,” she breathes, words visible in the chill of the winter air, the sun illuminating them in white translucence. She glances to where he’s hovering a few feet to the right of her, his shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, head tilted down, looking up at her with eyes full of question. “Come here,” she says, patting the cold bench by her left thigh, fingers gone numb half an hour ago - she’d forgotten her damn gloves again. She misses Regina’s reprimands.

  
He moves to sit beside her and then pulls out first one then two items from his pockets - her gloves. Her mouth drops open, blinking down at the simple black leather - a pair she’d bought just a few weeks ago after Regina had made one comment too many about her lack of self-care. _Regina, not owning a pair of gloves doesn’t make me negligent...it just makes me forgetful. And cold...a lot...okay, fine. Jesus._

  
“I think she magically stole them from your dresser. That’s where I remember seeing them last.” He shrugs. “She mumbled something about you being thick-headed and idiocy not being enough to keep flesh and bones warm? I don’t know, she was going upstairs when she said it.”

  
Emma scowls, snatching the gloves...and putting them on. No need for her to lose fingers because Regina’s weird and slightly obsessive (but also really fucking - annoyingly - endearing) attention to her physical well-being makes her want to throw the damn things off the dock and into the freezing sea below.

  
“Yeah, well,” she grumbles as she slips them on over her icy fingers, curling and uncurling them, blowing her hot breath into the tips of them before rubbing her gloved hands together and shifting a little on the bench, eyes finding the grey, choppy water again. She sniffs. “I guess she’s right.”

  
Henry looks out ahead of them as well, hands (gloved like hers) stuffed between his thighs for warmth. “Yeah,” he says, voice dull. “She is.”

  
Emma turns to look at him, his rosy cheeks, chestnut hair blowing in the wind, nearly getting into his eyes it’s gotten so long in his bangs. She has no control over the way her hand reaches up to brush some of it away, cup his reddened ear.

  
He takes in a breath, letting it whoosh out of his mouth, a puff of white curling away from his lips. She lets her hand drop so he can speak but he grabs it and holds onto it. Emma squeezes.

  
When his eyes finally tip up to meet her own, they’re glossy, the mixture of brown and hazel so full of apology she nearly stops him from even speaking it.

  
But she knows he needs to say it, and truthfully, the way he’d spoken to her earlier, what he’d inadvertently refused, had hit a bullseye she didn’t realize she even had. And it was still bruised.

  
She needed to hear this, too.

  
“Ma, what I said earlier at breakfast...I’m -” He frowns at himself, a flash of self-loathing washing over his features so fiercely it awakens a pure response of protection deep within her gut. _You were upset. It’s okay._ He shakes his head, gaze darting down to their joined hands. Emma squeezes again, a knee-jerk reaction. He sniffles. Squeezes back.

  
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, words and chin trembling. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, and Emma absolutely caves, heart being tugged so viciously she’s lurching forward in an instant, cupping the back of her son’s neck and wrapping him up in a fierce hug, their hands breaking apart as she presses her cheek to the top of his head, vision blurring with her own tears.

  
“Oh, Henry,” she breathes. “I know.” She presses a kiss to his temple before pulling away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes before chuckling. “I know, okay?” She cradles his face, the damp leather of her thumbs rubbing against the soft skin under his eyes.

  
He nods, mocha searching her face. “And what I said about Hook…”

  
Emma sucks in a breath, closing her eyes before opening them again. “How about we put that on a high shelf and ignore it for a while?”

  
He purses his lips, eyes narrowing, a calculation in them that is so strikingly Regina it knocks Emma’s breath loose from her lungs.

  
And then he nods once more. “Okay.”

  
Emma bumps her forehead against his gently, a small smile working its way across her mouth. “Okay.”

  
On their way back to the apartment he’s unusually quiet and she bumps his shoulder when they’re a few blocks away.

  
“What’s going on in that head of yours, kid?”

  
And he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t miss a beat. “You still haven’t told me why Mom was so drunk that night.”

  
That stops Emma.

  
Henry’s a few steps in front of her before he realizes she’s not beside him anymore and turns.

  
“So it was because of you,” he says, eyes like a jury counsel.

  
“Henry,” she sighs, not knowing what else to say in this moment. So goddamn done with her and Regina being this _exhausting_. “You know that high shelf?” Henry nods as Emma comes up beside him once more, her arm around his shoulders. “Go up the ladder about fifty more steps and place this on _that_ one.”

 

* * *

 

“Emma.”

  
She's in one of the chairs at her dining room table, the only light coming from the one she left on above the sink, an uneven triangular sliver of it bathing the wood tile in a soft glow.

  
There's a decanter of apple cider in Emma's hand. She isn't using a glass.

  
“I'm starting to think I should arrange for both of us to attend an AA meeting. Or several.”

  
She's slipping her heels off as she says it, voice low and tentatively teasing. She doesn't know how it had gone with her and Henry. With her and the pirate.

  
She does know Emma’s almost finished the entire decanter. A pebble of dread settles against the bottom of her stomach. A prickle of anxiousness. Of concern.

  
She's slowly padding to the dining room, her heels left at the entrance of the foyer. She comes around on Emma's right and quietly slides out the chair adjacent to her.

  
She can see an extra shine to Emma's eyes that suggests crying. Her leather jacket is hung over the back of her chair, her finger is tracing the nose of the decanter.

  
She isn't looking at Regina. She's staring straight ahead, almost as if she's not in the present moment.

  
But she chuckles at Regina's words and Regina feels her heart flutter, a small celebration.

A wry smile tugs up one corner of Emma's mouth.

  
She grips the decanter, lifts it, tilts it and her head back, and gulps down the rest of the cider.

  
Regina watches her throat bob, her muscles and tendons flexing and relaxing as she swallows. Her brow pulls together, a yanking ache in the hollow of her chest.

  
The decanter lands on the table with a booming snick and Regina has to bite down a reprimand.

  
“Does that even exist in this town?” Emma smirks, the edges of it blunted. She looks down at her hands on the table. “It was either this or have a magical meltdown in the forest. And I already feel bad enough about the trees I leveled when I was...unstable.”

  
Regina winces. She remembers that night.  
“I'm sure -”

  
“He told me it was nothing in comparison to what you've done.”

  
Regina stops short at that, almost audibly. Her breath snags, a direct hit to the gut. For a brief, very brief, moment she thinks it's Henry she's talking about. And for that brief moment she feels like she's suffocating, feels like Emma’s wrapped her hand around her throat and _squeezed_.

  
In the next one, she realizes she means the pirate. The hand leaves her throat. She can handle it coming from anyone but Henry.

  
Emma finally, finally looks over at her. When she does, some of that soft glowing light hits her face. Her right cheek is blotched with red, a curved tear track dried there. Her eye is a piercing green, raw, with wet lashes.

  
And Regina has been tortured to near death, she's been thrown into the clock tower, her own car. She's been magically strangled, subdued, and constrained against her will.

  
But none of that has quite the same overwhelming blow as Emma's next words.

  
“And he's right.”

  
It's something physical again, not a tiny fist with precise aim but a larger one, her entire upper body devastated from the impact. And so it's out of pure reflex that her throat scrapes out a survivor, a response. “...Oh.”

  
Emma brings her hands to her lap; Regina watches them disappear. And in an instant she’s sedated, numb. Like Emma's words were the explosion and the trauma surgeon all in one. And where there was once a hand at her throat there's now a syringe, feeling ebbing away, starting right at the puncture point.

  
“Because he is, isn't he? I know exactly who you were.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper now and Regina feels impossible tears start to well up. She closes her eyes against them and dips her head, thinking that maybe there are now two people she can't bear to hear this from.

Thinking herself a fool for ever believing she could escape her past.

  
“Emma... please -”

  
“Just like I know exactly who you are now.”  
Regina’s head jerks up, jolting with surprise, with a sudden, full-bodied spark of hope.

  
Emma’s eyes haven't left Regina so she sees the reaction and Regina tries very hard not to but she swallows, nervous. So feverishly nervous that she slides her hands from her lap and doesn't move the visible part of her body to slip her hands beneath the backs of her thighs.

  
“That night I told you I loved every part of you, I meant it.” Emma lets out a heavy exhale here, hunching in on herself before tangling her fingers in her hair. “God, _Regina_.”

  
It's a cross between a whisper and a moan and it draws out of Regina an exhale of her own. It's the exasperation in her name that tugs at her diaphragm, tries to pull it into her gut.

  
She doesn't know what to do in this moment, doesn't know if she's allowed to touch, allowed to console. Her hands lift to the table but then still.

  
“Emma,” she starts, voice low and rough, “can I -”

  
“I think about that night every day. _Every. Fucking. Day. Regina.”_

  
Her face is still hidden by her arm, her hair like some deep golden curtain.

  
Regina tenses, heart an insistent thud inside of her. She can hear her own pulse in her temples, feel it in her wrists.

  
“Emma,” she breathes, her name all she can manage in this charged moment, the two syllables a scratchy whisper.

  
Her fingertips just barely brush against Emma's shoulder when Emma sucks in a sharp breath, dips away, still shielding her face.

  
“I don't know what I'll do if you touch me. I'm...I'm really drunk.”

  
Regina swallows, trying not to take the words as an outright rejection but more as a...precaution.

  
It stings all the same.

  
“Okay,” she says, sliding her hands back into her lap. Her eyes glance to the stairs and she stands, leaving ample space between her and Emma. “You shouldn't drive. Or use magic. The guest bedroom -”

  
“Is mine if I wish to stay,” Emma finishes as she drags herself up and out of the chair, fist wrapping around the back of it when she sways. Regina clenches her own hands together over her stomach to keep from reaching out. “Yeah, I know the drill.”

  
“Right,” Regina says, feeling entirely uncomfortable, awkward even. “Do you need help up -”

  
“I'm fine.”

  
“All right.” She clears her throat, eyes on the back of Emma’s white shirt as she stands off to the side, face turned away so Regina can't see her. She's waiting. Waiting for Regina to leave.

  
“Goodnight, Emma,” she says softly, an apology stitched into the letters.

  
“Night,” Emma says stiffly.

  
And Regina leaves her to go upstairs. She grabs an extra blanket from the closet in the hall and lays it on Emma's bed, knowing how cold it gets up here during the winter.

  
She whispers a spell to make herself fall asleep, knowing without it she wouldn't, without it she’d do something stupid. Like touch Emma. Like kiss Emma. Like ask for all of it beforehand. Perhaps even beg for it.

  
She doesn't dream.

 

* * *

 

By the time Regina wakes the next morning, pulling her robe together as she pads down the hallway, Emma’s already gone. Regina pushes the door open fully where it had been halfway closed. Her exhale matches her disappointment in its loudness. She falls against the doorframe, eyes on the pristinely made bed. Had Emma even slept in it? She has the unbearable, ridiculous urge to bury her nose in the far right pillow.

  
She steps forward and wraps her fingers around the doorknob, shutting the door with enough force the wall trembles.

  
She presses her forehead against the cool white wood before startling when she hears a curious, hesitant “Mom?” drifting up the stairs.

  
“Henry?” She glances down at the watch on her left wrist, brow furrowed when it reads 5:52. He wasn’t supposed to come home from Snow and David’s until noon.

  
She quickly makes her way down the stairs and into the kitchen where her son is perched on the island, a bowl of cereal - Frosted Flakes, she realizes after closer inspection - in front of him, crunching away as he looks up.

  
“Oh, thank god,” he says. “I thought the house actually _was_ haunted.” 

  
Confusion melts into amusement and she chuckles as she shakes her head, moving around him, scratching her nails across his upper back gently in good morning as she reaches for a coffee mug in the cupboard. “As if ghosts would dare dwell in The Evil Queen’s lair.” She’s a bit impatient for caffeine this morning so she forgoes her coffee maker and waves a hand over her mug, it filling swiftly with steaming, black liquid. A little flutter of her fingers and it mixes a deep brown.

  
Henry snorts, the clink of his spoon on the bowl as his stirs the flakes eliciting a comfort in Regina she didn’t know she so desperately needed until now. She resists the urge to wrap her arms around her son in what would no doubt be a nearly suffocating embrace.

  
“I don’t know,” he muses, “the basement still terrifies me to this day.”

  
“Well, that’s because it hasn’t been refurbished since the eighties, dear,” she quips, smirking.

  
She comes around the island and catches his eye roll. She smiles crookedly as he takes another bite, scrunching his nose as she takes a sip of her coffee. “I hope I never learn to like that stuff. It smells gross.”

  
Regina arches a brow, leaning onto her elbows as she cradles the mug with both hands. “You know when you were a toddler you used to try and steal sips from me almost every morning.”

  
“I did not!”

  
Regina chuckles. “Oh, you really, really did.” Henry looks horrified by the idea and her chuckles morph into a full-bellied laugh. “Until one morning I finally let you try some - just the smallest of sips,” she shakes her head at the memory, eyes crinkling as she remembers his little face screwed up in pure disgust, his little cry of “ _Momma, ‘scusting_!”

  
“Let’s just say after that you stayed far away from my “‘scusting” coffee.”

  
“You drink it with hardly any cream or anything, too.” He makes a face. “No wonder I still can’t stand it. I was traumatized.”

  
Regina rolls her eyes, smile painted with affection. She’s swallowing another sip when he stirs his spoon again and doesn’t make eye contact with her, choosing instead to stare into his Frosted Flakes.

  
_Uh-oh_ , she thinks.

  
“So, Ma was here last night?”

  
Her eyes fall closed for the briefest of seconds. She sighs. _Of course_. “Is that why you’re home so early?”

  
“If I’m not allowed to answer a question with a question you aren’t either,” he shoots back, eyes on hers now as she glances up, a firmness in his caramel irises that has her swallowing.

  
“Your mother was here last night, yes,” she says to her hands as she turns and makes her way to the sink, pouring the rest of her still-hot coffee down the drain.

  
His eyes, his hopeful, warm eyes, light up and Regina‘s own fall shut once more. “Henry,” she exhales.

  
His face screws up into a scowl. He stabs at his cereal, his spoon clicking harshly with the bottom of the bowl. “Whatever,” he mumbles before sliding out of the high stool and dumping his now soggy flakes down the garbage disposal, rinsing his bowl and setting it in the sink before brushing past her and out of the kitchen.

  
“Henry,” she says again, a gentle plea, reaching after him.

  
He stops and turns, and the tears welling up on his eyelids make Regina nearly whimper. Her face falls, brow corrugating. She aches and aches to comfort her son, to kiss away his tears, his sadness. She wants him bursting with happiness, face alight again.

  
“I know, Mom,” he rasps, scrubbing angrily as his tears fall. His eyes flicker across her face, and he wraps her up in a fierce hug before she can even process it; she grips onto him, her own eyes stinging as she closes them and buries her face in Henry’s hair, pressing a kiss there. “It just sucks,” he says, as he pulls away, sniffling.

  
She brings her fingers up to skitter across his cheek, knuckles catching warm saltwater. She curls her fingers under his chin and smiles, feeling it wobble. She will always smile for her son.

  
“Yes,” she agrees, a hoarse whisper. “Yes, it does.”

 

* * *

 

It's another week before they see each other again. A week in which Regina has resolved that they can be friends. At the very least, they can go back to their just-bordering-on-hostile banter.

  
And if she has to trek through the woods in three inch heels to locate the source of an incessant plume of sickly yellow smoke, well, she’s not going to apologize for the way she copes with that.

  
“You know, if you’d ever displayed even an ounce of the dedication you seem to garner for bear claws to learning magic I wouldn’t need to be out in the middle of this godforsaken forest ruining yet _another_ pair of designer shoes because of you.”

  
Emma snorts and turns to look behind her, biting back a laugh when Regina nearly trips over a bared root in the dirt and leaves.

  
Regina glares and Emma shakes her head. “Maybe don’t be a perpetual snob and buy a pair of tennis shoes?”

  
There’s no reply and Emma holds out a hand when she steps over a fallen trunk, unthinking.

  
Regina takes it on automatic and Emma’s watching Regina’s legs so she startles a little when Regina’s fingers constrict around her palm. On instinct, her own muscles in her forearm and bicep flex to compensate her lapse in awareness and the air seems suddenly charged when Regina’s made it over the tree trunk and their hands linger before falling away from one another.

  
“Um, I think we’re getting closer.” She turns as she speaks, saying it to the trees in front of her more than to Regina who's still a step behind her.

  
“Why do you - oh.”

  
“ _Jesus Christ_.” Emma buries her nose in the crook of her elbow. “Did something _die_ out here?”

  
Emma's paused, stunned into a standstill by the eye-watering, acrid smell. Her nostrils burn with every inhale. Regina steps forward, brow furrowed in concentration as she scans the forest ahead of them. Emma can see between blurred vision and rapid blinks the source of the smoke a few yards in front of them. Just to the right.

  
Emma shakes her head, wipes at her eyes, and moves to brush past Regina but is stopped by a hand to her stomach.

  
“Step backward slowly,” Regina says, voice low.

  
She's still looking out into the expanse of forest, eyes not on the smoke but what it's coming out of. Emma squints.

  
“Is that...a _sinkhole_?”

  
“ _Now_ , Emma.”

  
She turns back to Regina in alarm, the demand a gritted rasp. _Fearful_.

  
“Regina, what's -”

  
“Goddammit, Emma!”

  
Before Emma can even move, there's a high-pitched whistling, and then she's being flung backward, her body twisting, hands shooting out on automatic to shield herself from tree bark suddenly in her face. Her palms are shredded, her shoulders and back are pulsing with a sharp ache, and she groans as she rolls over on her back, gasping for the breath knocked out of her lungs. She can't feel her mouth.

  
“ _Emma_! Emma, are you -”

  
Regina's voice cuts off in a choked gargle and Emma’s heart leaps into her throat as she scrambles to get up, world tilting as she steadies herself, one of her hands shooting up to touch at her neck.

  
“R’gina.” She slurs, stumbling as the world continues to spin. Emma screws her eyes shut before opening them again, trying to find purchase against the trees as she sees a fuzzy image of Regina hovering in the air, hands up around her neck as if trying to grapple at an invisible noose. “R’gina, I’m coming, I'm - hold on -”

  
The world melts, Emma’s eyes roll back in her head, and when she slumps to the ground her last thought is _hold on_ , Regina before she slips into a world of blackness.

 


End file.
